Alone
by Sherlolly-221B
Summary: Alone may protect Sherlock, but it certainly doesn't protect Molly Hooper. One night she is waiting for her fallen hero to return home, but instead she is greeted with his nemesis. Moriarty is back from the dead, determined to hurt Sherlock. And the best way to do this, he knows, is to hurt his precious pathologist... Sherlolly with hints of other pairings.
1. Home Alone

Molly Hooper was alone.

Sherlock, who had been staying at her flat for several months now, was visiting his brother. Apparently he was 'forced into it'. Her cat, Toby, was wandering the streets of London without a care in the world. There was nobody else, thus Molly was home alone. It was a peculiar feeling. She was used to having Sherlock around now and she somewhat missed his company, despite his constant insults and deductions. Though, she supposed, he had a right to do so. He was cooped up inside most of the time which made him very, _very_ bored. If the bullet holes in her walls weren't enough, Molly had to endure body parts in the fridge and the sound of the violin at two in the morning, which was, actually, rather lovely.

Being alone meant Molly was pretty much free to do whatever she wanted. In the end she decided to read. That was one of her absolute favourite things to do. More often than not, she read pointless romance novels. They were often depressing, considering her own failed attempts at relationships, but they also had an element of excitement. Today, however, she decided to polish her knowledge by reading one of the many medical textbooks she had acquired over the years.

She knew most of it already. There were several facts which she had forgotten, but nothing was really new. But she didn't complain. Reading a book she had read four times previously was better than reading nothing at all.

After an hour or so she had finished, and still neither Sherlock nor Toby had returned home. Molly let out a forlorn sigh. With nothing better to do, she decided to have a bath. A nice, hot bath with lots of bubbles and scented candles. If that didn't cheer her up, she didn't know what would.

It was _glorious_. She had forgotten about luxuries like hot baths and proper meals. On a typical day, she would wake up, have a quick shower and go to work. She didn't eat much anymore – only snacks and the occasional takeaway – which was a habit she picked up from her new housemate. He didn't seem very pleased about it.

Molly slowly changed into her pyjamas (she had all the time in the world to spare). They were her favourites; green and grey checked pyjama bottoms and a matching emerald tank top. Not the most attractive of garments, but they were comfortable nonetheless.

She heard a door open and smiled.

"You've been gone a while, Sherlock!" she called out, whilst tying her damp hair into a scruffy ponytail. There was a long silence. "Sherlock?"

It wasn't him.

As she entered the living room, it was suddenly very obvious that the man who stood before her was _not_ Sherlock Holmes. He was nothing like Sherlock Holmes! He was ruthless, heartless, cold-blooded... The man who stood before her was James Moriarty.


	2. Monsters of the past

She inhaled sharply. And that was all she could manage.

The presence of this man – this _monster_ – was enough to silence her. Turn her into a terrified little mouse. Or a deer caught in the headlights. She was totally still and never once took her eyes off him.

"Molly, dearest," he began, a sickening smile plastered across his face, "Long time no see, huh?"

Molly gulped. _This isn't happening, _she thought, her heart beating so fast she could feel it, _this can't be happening. Why is this happening?!_

"I've missed you." Moriarty took a step closer and Molly took a step back. She wondered where she had found the courage to do that. "Have you missed me? You've missed me, haven't you? Of course you have!" He shouted the last sentence, making Molly gasp in utter terror. She reeled back until she collided with the wall.

"Sorry." he continued, his voice back to normal (_if that voice is allowed to be called normal_). He adjusted his _Westwood_ tie and took yet another step closer. "I don't mean to be touchy, but I didn't get much sleep. Too busy thinking about you."

For some strange and completely _stupid_ reason Molly believed him.

"So, anyway," he took _another_ step closer to her, "I was wondering about us."

"Us." Molly whispered, looking down at his shoes (they were _Gucci_, of course they were, he was Jim Moriarty). She didn't understand where he was going with this.

"Yes, Princess. U_s_."

She didn't know what scared her most; his threatening tone of voice or the fact he called her _Princess_.

"I reckoned you'd want to see me again. Because, honey, you're always so lonely. I don't like that." Now he was so close Molly could feel his breath on her neck. "I don't like _that_ at all."

There it was again - that menacing grin that made him look like the Joker from _Batman_.

"How have you been lately?" he asked, tilting his head to the side slightly, "I know all about your new flatmate, so there's no point lying to me." He let out a dry laugh. "Oh, the things I could do to you if you did!"

"I..." Molly didn't have a clue what to say. Well, she was talking to the world's only consulting criminal; a psychopathic killer who was _supposed_ to be dead. "It's good."

"That's all you have to say?" Jim chuckled, "Quiet one, aren't you? I like that."

He didn't like it when she was alone but he liked the fact she was quiet. Weird.

"There are a lot of things I like about you, Molly." he continued, "Which is _exactly_ why I came back."


	3. No one can hear you scream

She had been brave enough not to cry until a cold hand caressed her cheek.

"You're crying," Moriarty purred, "Vulnerable. I like that. So _easy_ to manipulate. Almost too easy."

"L-leave me alone. P-please." Molly didn't know where she found the courage to stand up to him, even if it was just a helpless squeak.

"And what would be the fun in that?" Moriarty teased, laughing heartlessly, "I didn't come here to talk, Molls, I came here to get even."

Molly didn't have a clue what he was thinking, but the coldness of his voice terrified her. He tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

"There's only one way to get to Sherlock," the psychopath whispered. Molly could feel his warm breath on the side of her neck during the long pause. "You."

Suddenly the situation became a whole lot more frightening (_if that's even possible_).

"The thing that bugs Sherlock the most is seeing his friends hurt. John, Lestrade, Mrs Hudson... They're all _so_ brave. But you? You, my dear, are perfect."

"P-perfect for w-what?" Molly stuttered, focusing her gaze on his burning brown eyes.

"Oh, everything," the smile returned, "Absolutely _everything_. Now, are we gonna do this the easy way... or the hard way?"

"What?" squeaked the mouse of a woman.

"Will you come with me?" Moriarty questioned (though it felt more like an order), "Or are you gonna put up a fight?"

"Bu- What? I don't-"

Moriarty moved swiftly. One hand rested on her waist, his nails digging into her soft skin. With the other, he injected a syringe (he had probably hidden it under his jacket) into her neck.

Molly gasped in pain and Jim smirked. She tried calling out for Sherlock, but it was no use. After a while, her legs wouldn't hold her any longer and she collapsed to the floor. Moriarty caught her by the shoulders and lifted her up, so she was lying against him. In the end her screams just became pitiful sobs.

"Good girl." Moriarty said softly, just before everything went black...


	4. Feeling

**Firstly, I just want to say thanks so much to everyone who has given me a review! It's all really positive and it's cheered me up. I shall continue this story now. It is my duty! **

**EDIT: I realised that I made a mistake in one of my later chapters! I said Molly had a night shift, but here it said it was her day off so I've changed it. :)**

Sherlock stepped out of the black _jaguar_, slamming the door behind him. He was going to kill Mycroft one day.

_I swear to God, if he does that again..._

They were supposed to meet up for lunch and, although Sherlock wasn't particularly looking forward to it, he decided to get it over with, just to stop Mycroft pestering him. He made up a stupid excuse about how Mycroft had 'blackmailed' him to come, so he didn't appear too... willing.

But they didn't just have lunch; that was the problem. Mycroft kept Sherlock in his flat _all day_, probably just to irritate him. Of course, Sherlock was _infuriated_! His brother was the only person who knew _exactly_ how to get to him.

Or so he thought.

Upon entry to the flat, Sherlock immediately knew something was wrong. The door was slightly ajar and several books had been knocked off the coffee table. Nobody appeared to be in. Today was Molly's day off (either that or she had a late shift) and she would have definitely texted him if she was going out. The most obvious clue, however, was the striped, drawstring bag on the armchair. Molly would never leave home without it.

"Molly?" Sherlock called out, peering his head around the door to the kitchen. He was certain she wasn't there, but he wanted to make sure, just in case he was wrong.

_Don't be ridiculous, Sherlock, you're never wrong._

"Molly." It wasn't a question this time. Sherlock felt worry and anger and guilt all at the same time. And it was terrible.

"This is all my fault." he whispered, closing his eyes tight. He didn't see darkness. He saw Molly Hooper.


	5. Smothered by fear

**NOTE: I am going to be posting this in a bit of a random order (probably chunks of chapters at a time) because of school and stuff. Sorry. Yeah. Right. Okay...**

Molly's eyes opened slowly.

She had been asleep for several hours, not that she was aware of the time. Her breathing was slow and steady. She was blissful. Her alarm clock hadn't yet sounded, so it was still too early to get up. Instead, she rolled onto her side and pulled the red, silk duvet over her.

_Red? My quilt isn't red..._

Molly suddenly remembered. Moriarty had been at her house and he had... Kidnapped her? She sat up abruptly and gasped in shock, clamping her hand over her mouth. Her heart rate increased rapidly and she started to hyperventilate. She didn't know what to do; she was smothered by overwhelming fear.

"Sher - Lock – Help - Please!" she managed, in between breaths. Tears started streaming down her face and she sobbed helplessly. She clutched the bed covers with one hand and used the other to wipe her eyes.

...

Sherlock paced up and down the room frantically, his head in his hands. He had virtually _nothing_ to go on. Molly had obviously been abducted by someone – that much was evident – but he didn't know who had her. Or where they had her. Or _why_. Why would anyone want to hurt such an innocent, loving person as his Molly Hooper?

_Did I just think of her as mine?!_

He shook the thoughts away; he was being foolish. Molly Hooper was not, never had been or would be his.

"Come on, come on!" He was not only talking to himself, but actually shouting. The whole situation made him absolutely _furious_! "Think!"

...

Molly had been able to calm herself down a little, although inside she was still absolutely petrified. The door was locked; she had tried opening it. The window was shut too. There was no other way out, so for now she was trapped.

It was alright, however, because she was alone. Nobody was there to hurt her. For now anyway. She knew at some point _he _would come back and probably kill her.

_Stop thinking like that. You are not going to die._

The thoughts came to her almost subconsciously. But the words weren't spoken in her voice. It was Sherlock. His familiar, controlled baritone made her smile.

How she wished he really _was_ there to rescue her.


	6. Beating too fast

**Right, first, thanks for everyone's lovely comments! I know it sounds very cliché but it means the world to me. I like knowing that people like what I write! :) I appreciate you giving up your time to read this.**

**Secondly, as mentioned before, I will be posting this in a bit of a higgledy-piggledy order. Sorry for any inconveniences or whatever, I just don't have the time (Argh, curse you time!). I have lots of time at the weekend, however... *wink wink***

**So, thanks again for reading and... Here goes! Yippee!**

There was a click as someone unlocked the door.

It opened slowly, creaking like in the horror movies. A man entered the room. He had neat, dark hair and was wearing an expensive suit. There was an unreadable look on his pale face.

"What do you want _now,_ Mycroft?!" Sherlock yelled, turning his head towards the door. Mycroft's brows furrowed in confusion.

"Is it wrong to want to visit one's baby brother?" he questioned, smirking slightly. He always loved annoying Sherlock.

"I am _not_ a baby," the latter hissed, "And can't you see I'm busy?!"

"Doing what? You're not a detective anymore, Sherlock, you're supposed to be dead."

Sherlock took a deep breath and composed himself. Afterall, nobody wants to have an emotional breakdown in front of their big brother, especially not a high-functioning sociopath.

"Molly has been abducted," he stated (through gritted teeth), "_I'm_ trying to figure out where she is."

"Ah." There was something about the tone of Mycroft's voice that made Sherlock suspicious.

"What?" he interrogated, taking a stride towards his brother so their faces were almost touching, "What is it? What aren't you telling me?"

"There's something," the politician began. He looked down at his umbrella uncomfortably. "That you need to know."

"What is it?!" Sherlock was getting impatient, "Because if it doesn't help me find her-"

"Moriarty is just as clever as you are, you know?"

Sherlock was about to make some witty remark (_you're forgetting, I'm the one who faked my suicide_) before he realised Mycroft's (deliberate) mistake.

"He _is_ as clever as me?"

"You're not the only one clever enough to fake your own death."

"You're telling me he's alive?!" the younger persisted, "Why didn't you tell me _sooner,_ Mycroft? What has this got to do with Moll-"

Something clicked inside Sherlock's head.

"Oh Christ."

...

There was a click as someone unlocked the door.

_Not just someone_, thought Molly, her heart beating incredibly fast - _too_ fast. Beads of sweat trickled down her forehead. She tried to control her breathing; afterall, nobody wants to start hyperventilating in front of the world's only consulting criminal.

"_Molly!_"

He almost _sung_ her name as he entered the room, that same, mischievous grin plastered across his face. Molly trembled, utterly terrified, and shuffled backwards uneasily. She couldn't take her eyes off his. Dark, burning, cruel... They were the exact opposite of Sherlock's.

_Oh, Sherlock! Where are you?!_

Moriarty just stood there for a few moments. His smile had faded so he looked totally expressionless (_like a corpse_). He looked around the room, his mouth hanging open rather dumbly. Then, suddenly, he focused on Molly once again.

"So, sweetheart," he began casually, his voice monotonous, "Did you sleep well?"

Molly nodded quickly... _I slept okay considering I was just kidnapped!_

"Anyway, darling," this man seemed to have a wide variety of pet names, "I've been waiting for _hours_ now and I haven't done anything that could be called criminal. So it's only fair that you give me a reward for my good behaviour."

Jim took several steps closer and Molly moved ever closer to the end of the bed. The psychopath seemed amused.

"Oh, playing hard to get, are we? I like that."

_You like lots of things, don't you?_

He took another step. If Molly moved any further backwards, she would surely fall off the bed, which was something she wanted to avoid. She closed her eyes tight and waited. After five seconds, she felt something cold pressed against her neck...

**There you go! Cliffhanger! Mwahahahaha! That bit at the start (when Mycroft opened the door and stuff) was intended to make you think that it was Jim... If it didn't then I have failed. Epic. :)**


	7. Friends and Frenzies

**Hello! Bit of a short chapter but I have actually been quite busy! I know I said I wasn't busy at the weekend but... That was before I got masses of homework. I hope you enjoy this, anyhow!**

Sherlock lunged forward, ready to kill. This was undoubtedly his brother's fault.

Mycroft collapsed onto the floor, dropping his umbrella. His mouth hung open in shock for a few seconds before he came to his senses. As he stood up, the man stood before him raised his fist.

"Now, now, Sherlock," he scolded, "I don't think violence is going to solve anything."

"Why the _hell_ didn't you tell me?!" Sherlock bellowed angrily, taking a firm hold of his brother's shoulders and shaking them, "Why? Why? _Why?!"_

This behaviour was most definitely not normal. Sherlock hadn't lost his temper like this in years and Mycroft's concern was growing.

"I didn't tell you because I wanted to protect you," the latter stated simply, "I knew you would go after Moriarty if I did. And I didn't want to risk losing you again."

"You should have thought about that when you told him my entire life story." Sherlock retorted scornfully. The elder brother sighed.

"I had to. Moriarty had the key code. If I hadn't told him he would have-"

"Targeted the commonwealth?" Sherlock interrupted, "Look at you, Mycroft - all queen and country. It's quaint and stupid and I'm sick of it. What ever happened to family values?"

Mycroft gritted his teeth; he was beat.

"Why are you acting like this?" he questioned, "You're in a frenzy over an acquaintance-"

"I am _not_ in a frenzy and she is _not_ an acquaintance. She's my _friend._" Mycroft was puzzled.

"Your friend?"

"Yes. Is there a problem with that, Mycroft?" there was silence, "Good. Now, you're going to help me find her."

**Et voila! Not the most exciting of chapters, but I have always wanted to write a scene where Sherlock gets ****_really_**** mad at Mycroft. Thanks for reading! More soon!**


	8. Innocence and no defence

**Hi. I know the last chapter was really short and boring. Sorry about that. This chapter is also short. I was gonna put them together in one chapter but it didn't work... This story is lacking something... So I give you something!**

"Elevated." Moriarty spoke, a wicked smile forming across his face. It had taken Molly a few moments to realise that the pain in her neck was not caused by a knife or a sword, but, in fact, Moriarty's sharp fingernails. They were digging in like daggers and it took a lot of effort not to cry.

"You're scared. Good. I-"

"Like that?" Molly chipped in, without thinking. Her voice was barely audible but he heard her nonetheless. His smirk widened. Now he had an excuse to hurt her.

In one swift movement, Moriarty pulled his hand away, scratching Molly's soft skin as he did so. Molly winced and let out a pained yelp. She bit her lip and tried, once again, to hold back her tears. The psychopath laughed callously.

"That'll teach you to interrupt," he whispered, "You're not going to do that again, are you?" Molly nodded, terrified. "Good girl."

Moriarty rested his hands on Molly's shoulders. She squirmed, defenseless and a tear ran down her cheek.

"My sweet, innocent Molly Hooper."


	9. Panic Stricken

Mycroft kept giving Sherlock funny glances as they walked through London.

"What?" the latter snapped eventually.

"Oh, nothing," Mycroft replied, "You just look so different."

It was true. Sherlock was in disguise to make sure nobody recognised him. He was wearing loose jeans and a t-shirt, as well as a baseball cap which contained his dark curls. He had green contacts too, which made him look like a completely different person. Of course, Mycroft could distinguish him, but any _normal_ person wouldn't have given him a second glance.

"Where are we going, Sherlock?" he questioned, brows furrowed. Sherlock said that he needed some 'fresh air', but that clearly wasn't the case. They had walked for at least ten minutes and the lanky detective seemed to know _exactly_ where he was going.

"Southwark Bridge." Sherlock replied, turning a corner. Mycroft struggled to keep up with his brother; he wasn't built for leg work.

"Why didn't we take a car?"

Sherlock cast his big brother an irritated look and then continued walking. Mycroft didn't dare pester him any more.

"One of my homeless network - Wiggins - has some information for me." Sherlock informed, "Apparently he saw Moriarty this morning."

"Why couldn't he just text you the details?"

"Too risky. Moriarty could find out somehow. This way is a lot more subtle."

...

Molly woke up in yet another unfamiliar room. She had either blacked out or Moriarty had drugged her again. The latter of the two seemed more likely, considering the circumstances.

The consulting criminal himself was peering over her when she woke. He had a smile spread across his face. For a moment, Molly could have sworn he looked... normal.

"You fainted," he told, tucking a strand of chestnut hair behind her ear. She noticed that it was no longer in a ponytail. "Clearly there are problems with the drug. I'll have to fix that for next time."

Next time? Did he mean the next time he drugged her, or someone else maybe...?

"I was worried about you!" he chuckled warmly (_warmly?_), "It's _so_ silly of me, but I couldn't help myself." He smiled at her gently (_gently?!_).

"T-that's very n-nice of you." Molly stuttered nervously, looking into his eyes. They no longer seemed cold and uninviting. They almost gave her a sense of comfort.

_Comfort?! The man just abducted you, Molly! Stop being ridiculous! He's not capable of that!_

For a second Moriarty looked like a lost puppy. He appeared to read her mind. And he _appeared_ to be insulted. Then he snapped back to reality and became a psychopathic killer once again.

"It was a one off," he whispered tauntingly, right into her ear, _"Don't_ expect it to happen again."

Molly shifted uncomfortably. She was sat on a leather sofa in a stylish, modern room. There was a large, plasma television on the back wall and a mahogany coffee table in the middle of the room. It was all very symmetrical. Jim fit in well with his posh suit and slick hair. Molly, on the other hand, did not, even though she was dressed in an equally posh black dress.

_An equally posh black dress. A dress?!_

Molly looked down at herself and gasped. Questions filled her already puzzled head. _Why am I wearing a dress? I wasn't wearing a dress before! How did I get into this dress? Why the Hell am I wearing a bloody dress?!_

Moriarty noticed her panicking and rested his hand on top of her knee. This just made her panic even more!

"Don't fret, honey. I thought you would feel uncomfortable wearing your pyjamas around the house."

_And being undressed by a psychopathic ex-boyfriend who's just kidnapped me is supposed to make me feel __**comfortable**__?!_

Moriarty's grip tightened slightly and Molly shivered in fear. He was smiling again, though not warmly like before. Now he just looked darn creepy.

"I'm sorry if it upset you," he said with puppy-dog eyes (she was sure he was mocking her), "I don't want my sweet little Molly to be sad."

_You don't want me to be sad, but you like it when I cry. Make up your mind! And for God's sake let me go! Please! _

Moriarty slid his hand up a few inches and dug his nails into her. She let out a gasp in shock and her eyes widened, full of tears. He gave her a look that clearly meant '_no_'.

**Bazinga! There it is! Yes, I did just quote Sheldon Cooper from the big bang theory... But this is ****_Sherlock,_**** not ****_Sheldon,_**** so go away Doctor Cooper! Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it! It was a bit longer than previous chapters. Wiggins is actually one of the Baker Street irregulars in the awesome Sherlock Holmes canon. More of him later. And more of ****_'nice' Moriarty _****and ****_angry Sherlock _****and ****_ignorant Mycroft _****and ****_panic stricken Molly _****too! xxx**


	10. Just a possibility

**So this is chapter ten! Double figures, eh? I am so excited, like a kid at Christmas! Some of the chapters are very short - in fact, most of them are - but that's just the way I write. I like posting more and more and more every day, not just one massive chapter every week or something. So here is chapter ten!**

"Wiggins!" Sherlock greeted, in a somewhat better mood than earlier. He seemed to have calmed down a little.

Wiggins was a scrawny boy who couldn't have been any older than fifteen. Mycroft had heard stories about him, but never actually met him in the flesh. His clothes were at least three years old and he looked like he hadn't taken a wash in a decade! Mycroft's nose wrinkled in disgust.

"Alright, Guv?" Wiggins responded, nodding at Sherlock. He glanced at Mycroft's expensive suit and blinked in disbelief. Mycroft felt overly protective of his umbrella for some reason and clutched the handle tightly.

"What do you have for me?" Sherlock questioned quietly. Cutting straight to the chase; that was Sherlock all over. Wiggins nodded.

"I saw 'im, Guv, I'm sure I did," the vagrant replied, "Gettin' out of a car near Paddin'ton."

"That's not much use to me, now, Wiggins." Sherlock hadn't meant to sound rude, but he was Sherlock and he couldn't really help himself.

"It was a Porsche." Wiggins continued, scratching his head. Mycroft felt the urge to scratch his too; he feared that Wiggins might have given him fleas. "A nice, black Porsche with tinted windows. There was another man in there with 'im. Odd lookin' fella with a cigarette. Don't know who it was, though."

"Anything else, Wiggins?" persisted Sherlock impatiently, "Registration number? Address?"

"It was right next to the station. Moriar'y took a right turn and the car followed 'im."

"That's where Molly lived so that makes sense." Mycroft piped in. Sherlock glared at him.

_"Lives,_ Mycroft. She isn't dead!"

"How do you know?" Sherlock could have lunged at him again, but there was a voice in his head that told him not too. It was _her_ voice; Molly's. It made him smile and feel guilty and lots of other things.

"Look, Sherlock, the boy clearly doesn't know anything else," Mycroft interrupted his thoughts, "So, I'll go and look at the CCTV footage and I can tell you what I find in the morning."

Sherlock hesitated, before saying farewell to Wiggins and the two men departed once again. He spoke after a while, breaking an awkward silence that had been looming for a few minutes.

"I am not waiting all night, Mycroft. God knows what Moriarty could be doing to her right now."

"It's _Moriarty,_ Sherlock. He doesn't like getting his hands dirty. It's getting late now and you really need to get some sleep."

"How am I supposed to sleep when I know my friend is in the hands of that _maniac_?!" Mycroft's brow arched in curiosity.

"So, she really is your friend?" he asked.

"Yes. No. I don't know. I _think_ she's a friend and yet... Yet she _seems_ like so much more."

"Explain."

"Well..." Sherlock paused, wondering whether to confide in his brother or not, "I like her a lot and I care for her, I really do. But I don't know _what_ she _is."_

"How does she make you feel?" Mycroft questioned, knowing full well that Sherlock wouldn't understand what he was doing.

"She makes me feel _special_ because she likes me so much and it's like... I don't know, but she means the world to me and I'd be distraught if I lost her and every time I see her it cheers me up a lot and- What?" Sherlock had only just realised the smirk spread over Mycroft's face.

"Oh dear, Sherlock," he chuckled, "There is only one possible explanation for all of your feelings."

"What? What is it?!" He may have been exceptionally intelligent, but Sherlock had no clue whatsoever when it came to emotions.

"I think that there is just a chance that you may possibly have fallen in love."

**Ta da! That was chapter ten! I hope you enjoyed it! I love the fact that Sherlock is totally clueless when it comes to love and all that jazz. And I LOVE it when Mycroft teases it for him! Teehee! Thanks for reading! :)**


	11. Don't shoot the messenger

**Hello! I haven't posted in a few days, which for me is a long time, but for you is probably no time at all! This chapter goes from Sherlock to Mycroft to Sherlock to Mycroft... Mycroft is in his office, doing work and stuff. Sherlock is... Sherlock. Thanks for reading!**

"Absurd, Mycroft, absurd." Sherlock muttered, slamming the front door. His brother was wrong. He wasn't_ in love_ with Molly. He _cared_ about Molly, but that was different. She was his friend and he didn't want to lose her, but he didn't _love_ her. Mycroft was being ridiculous!

He rested his chin on his fingertips and went to his mind palace. He must have stored something away about _love_ and _caring_ and all that _normal_ stuff.

...

Mycroft had his head in his hands. He had let his brother down. He _knew_ that Moriarty was alive and he didn't tell Sherlock. And now this Hooper girl was in danger. Mycroft didn't care for her himself, but he could see how much she meant to Sherlock and knew he had to do something about it.

He stared at the video footage on the computer screen, waiting for any sign of Moriarty. This was all he could do. He couldn't track Moriarty's phone; the criminal had installed some sort of device that prevented just that. He didn't even have an address! He knew that 'Richard Brook' was _supposed_ to be living with Kitty Riley, but that evidently wasn't the case.

...

Sherlock looked in every room of his mind palace, but he didn't find any useful information. He knew that love was a chemical defect; a weakness. He knew all the science behind it, but he didn't have any real experience. He didn't understand emotions.

...

There was a knock at the door.

"Come in."

It was Anthea; Mycroft's PA. That, of course, wasn't her real name. He couldn't even _remember_ her real name.

"Something's happened, sir." she said, staring blankly at the screen of her _BlackBerry_.

"What is it?" Anthea blew a strand of wavy, chestnut hair out of her face.

"We received a message from someone called 'M. Hooper'. Recognise the name?" Mycroft smirked.

"What did the message say?" he asked.

"'Onslow Gardens'." Anthea shook her head, "That was all it said. Do you have any idea what it's about?"

"I believe I do," Mycroft paused for a second, "Leave this to me, Anthea. I'll deal with it."

"Yes sir." She left without another word and Mycroft rolled his eyes. He picked up his phone and selected 'Sherlock' from his contacts.

**So there it is! Once again, thanks for reading. That chapter wasn't very exciting, but it is VERY important! Onslow Gardens is a real place. Where? Well, you'll just have to wait and see! :D**


	12. Alone Again

**Yay! Chapter twelve! Inspiration came from an injection I had today. I was one of a few people who experienced horrible side effects and it wasn't very pleasant... Ergh, I still feel ill and it's been nearly ten hours!**

She must have blacked out. Again.

Molly's head was throbbing. She felt like she was about to vomit. Her eyes stung. Her hands were trembling. Presumably, they were all side effects of the drug Moriarty had given her.

She was lying down, staring up at the roof. Was this a different room to before? She didn't know; she couldn't focus. She was too exhausted to even attempt sitting up.

"Good, you're awake,"

She couldn't tell what sort of mood he was in. His voice was just... emotionless.

"Sorry about that. I should have _really_ got that drug tested. I'm _such_ a naughty boy!" he let out a dry laugh, "Well, at least you're okay now."

He sounded concerned.

_Is he... worried about me? Or perhaps..._

"But not for long."

_Of course. I should have seen that coming._

"Aren't you going to sit up?"

It wasn't a question. Forget about punctuation. He was _ordering_ her. And she obeyed, of course. Otherwise...

_Stop it, Molly, you'll scare yourself!_

Now she could see him. He was sitting at the end of the bed, legs crossed. They were in the same room as earlier; the first room Molly had been in. It was undoubtedly Jim's. He gave her a wolf-like smile.

"That's better. Now I can see your pretty face," he paused, "And the rest."

Molly looked down at herself. She was dressed in only her underwear. He deserved a slap for that. Molly certainly didn't.

She let out a gasp in pain and raised her hand to her face. A single tear ran down her cheek. She hadn't been expecting that _at all_. It hurt.

Moriarty rubbed his hands together.

"What?" he questioned, upon seeing Molly's shocked expression. Her jaw dropped. How could _anyone_ be so cruel and care so little? "Was that not hard enough?"

Molly could have screamed. Instead, she shook her head rapidly. She didn't want to be hit a second time. She didn't want to be here full stop.

_What's going to happen to me?!_

Jim answered that question for her. He stood up and straightened his suit jacket, a devilish grin spreading across his face.

"Dinner will be served in an hour. Get dressed. I've prepared an outfit for you; it's in the wardrobe. _Don't_ be late."

He left the room and slammed the door shut. Molly Hooper was alone. But this time she wished she wasn't.

_Come on, Sherlock! I need you!_

**Dum dum dum! What ****is**** Molly going to do?! You'll have to wait and see, folks! Thanks again for reading and I hope you enjoyed it! ;)**


	13. Dinner is served

**Hi again! Thanks for everyone's lovely comments; they've really cheered me up. Well, anyway, this is chapter thirteen.**

"Onslow Gardens." Mycroft said plainly. He didn't even bother greeting his little brother.

"What?" Sherlock was confused; why was Mycroft so _annoying_?

"I received a message," the latter continued, "All it said was 'Onslow Gardens'."

"From Moriarty?"

"From Miss Hooper, actually, but I presume it was Moriarty's doing."

Sherlock thought for a second.

"She isn't there," he stated, "Moriarty's tricking us."

"It could be a double bluff-"

"No," Sherlock cut in, "It's a trick. Trust me, Mycroft." He hung up the phone, threw it at the wall and put his head in his hands.

...

Molly sniffled. She had been crying to herself for the past ten minutes. She took a deep breath and composed herself.

There was an alarm clock on the bedside table. Moriarty must have been joking when he said 'dinner'; it was nearly midnight.

She walked slowly over to the large, oak wardrobe with the silk bed covers wrapped around herself. She pulled the stiff handles until they opened. Inside, there was an array of dresses. All of them were dazzling colours like scarlet and royal blue. Molly chose a deep purple dress with silver embroidery. It reminded her of one of Sherlock's aubergine shirts.

_Sherlock!_

She smiled. Hopefully he would be here soon. _Hopefully._

Molly slipped on a pair of flat shoes. She found it almost impossible to walk in heels. The last time she had done so was...

The Christmas party! How could she forget _that_? It was so humiliating but so brilliant at the same time. She didn't realise Sherlock could be so _human._ She'd never heard him apologise before.

_"I am sorry. Forgive me. Merry Christmas, Molly Hooper."_

She felt a _little_ bit better now.

"Oh, Sherlock," she sighed. She just wanted him to come and rescue her. He was, and always had been, her knight in shining armour. Only he would _care_ enough to save her.

That wasn't right. Sherlock didn't care about her at all. He just used her...

...

Sherlock couldn't concentrate.

The message from Moriarty had _obviously_ been a distraction. So... where was Molly? He presumed she had been taken to an abandoned warehouse or factory. That seemed more logical than a grand house in Kensington.

He had seen Onslow Gardens before - only once, though. All of the houses were four stories tall (with a cellar too), narrow and _extremely_ pricey. He couldn't imagine Molly there.

Toby the cat brushed against his leg and he cursed to himself. The feline wasn't helping him to think. He wished it would go away.

...

Big Ben chimed twelve times.

It was reasonably loud. Molly couldn't have been _too_ far away from the centre of the city. Knightsbridge, maybe? She wasn't sure. She didn't have an intimate knowledge of the city like Sherlock.

_Sherlock Sherlock Sherlock_

Oh, that man! She couldn't stop thinking about him!

Anyway, Molly knew that it was time to have 'dinner'.

She exited the room and walked down the stairs slowly. When she reached the bottom, an idea popped into her head.

_Maybe I can escape? _

Molly tiptoed over to the front door. She twisted the knob; it was unlocked. This was her big chance...

"And, where do you think you're going?"

Moriarty had seized hold of her wrist. She sighed. There was no point trying to run now.

"Dinner is almost ready; come and take a seat."

Molly hesitated.

Moriarty's eyes narrowed - he looked annoyed. His grip tightened and he dragged her into the dining room.

It was big; _huge. _Molly had never seen a room like it! There was a long, mahogany table with at least five chairs on either side. Sitting at the far end was a man she hadn't seen before. He had scruffy, brown hair and a blank expression. There was a lit cigarette between his fingers. Molly coughed.

"Sebby, what have I told you about smoking in front of guests?"

The man (Sebastian?) shrugged his shoulders and Jim rolled his eyes. He took hold of Molly's shoulders and forced her to sit opposite Sebastian. Moriarty himself sat at the very end of the table. He tapped his fingers on the wood.

An awkward silence hung in the air for at least a minute. And then another man entered the room, juggling three plates.

**Ta da! Thanks for reading, once again. Did Molly actually wear heels at the party? I dunno. Never mind. :)**


	14. Ruthless criminal mastermind

**Hi guys! This is quite a long chapter. I've been wanting to get to this part in the story for ages and ages and ages so I'm chuffed. :)**

The food looked delicious. Under normal circumstances, Molly would have tucked in right away. Fresh pasta with a creamy mushroom sauce was enough to make her taste buds tingle.

But this was no ordinary occasion. How was she supposed to eat when the world's most dangerous man was watching her?! His vacant expression was unnerving. He didn't eat anything either. Neither did Sebastian. This supposed 'dinner' seemed a bit pointless.

"You're not hungry," Jim stated, staring intently at Molly. She nodded slowly. "Neither am I. Come on."

He stood up and tucked his chair under the table. He held out his hand and, after hesitating for a few seconds, Molly accepted. Moriarty led her into the kitchen. The man who had served their meal was there too, but he quickly disappeared.

"You look nice." Moriarty said, looking Molly up and down. She bit her lip anxiously. "Purple suits you." He lifted up one of his hands. Molly staggered backwards, thinking he was going to hit her again. Instead, he tucked a loose lock of hair behind her ear. He took a step closer. Molly couldn't move; she was pressed up against the kitchen counter. Jim smiled at her and she looked down at the floor.

"You're shy. I like that."

Molly was really scared now. She could sense that something bad was going to happen. Tears rolled down her cheeks. Moriarty cupped her head in his hands, making her cry even harder.

"Hush now, sugar, don't cry," he whispered. Molly didn't stop; she just couldn't.

"Sh-Sherlock!" she whimpered, scared half to death. The mention of the former detective made Moriarty's expression change dramatically; he looked like he could murder her, which he probably could.

"Oh, you're going to pay for that."

...

Mycroft burst into the flat, flushed. Sherlock was lying on the floor with his hands covering his face.

"You were wrong, Sherlock," the former panted, leaning on his umbrella, "There is a black Porsche outside 64 Onslow Gardens." Sherlock merely sighed.

"He's playing a game with me, Mycroft, and it's not one I'm willing to play."

"I looked at the CCTV footage," Mycroft cut in, "Moriarty entered that flat with Miss Hooper yesterday and neither of them have been outside since."

Sherlock cursed himself for being so ignorant. _Of course_ they were at Onslow Gardens! Moriarty _wanted_ him to think otherwise. It all made sense now!

"We have to get to her." he said, leaping up and grabbing his coat from the arm of the sofa.

"You can't come with me dressed like that!" Mycroft laughed, "What if someone recognises you?!"

"It's a risk I'll have to take."

They both rushed outside and into Mycroft's car. Sherlock sat in the drivers seat.

"You don't have a licence!" his brother hissed, "And you're supposed to be dead!"

"It will take to long if you drive."

Sherlock drove way over the speed limit. It was lucky it was the middle of the night; there weren't as many cars on the road for him to crash into.

...

Molly used all her strength to push Moriarty away from her. But she wasn't strong enough.

"Don't you dare."

He gave her another slap (the fourth of the night) and grinned. _Sadistic bastard, _she thought as more tears streamed down her face. This terrifying ordeal had lasted little more than twenty minutes (so far), but it was definitely going to leave some scars; both emotional and physical. Moriarty had carried her up the stairs over his shoulder as she struggled and screamed. He was ruthless and sick and terrible.

_Sherlock, please!_

**Well... I hope you enjoyed that. A little more drama than the last chapter. Tell me if you liked it! :)**


	15. Guardian Angel

**Hello again, amigos! This is chapter fifteen... Wowzers, have I got that far already?! Anyway, I hope you enjoy it!**

"Oh, shit!" Sherlock yelled, banging his fist on the window. They were stuck in a traffic jam, "Why is congestion so bloody bad nowadays?!" Mycroft sighed.

"Language, Sherlock," he scolded, shaking his head, "Mummy would be appalled."

"I don't care what Mummy would think, Mycroft! My friend - one of my _only_ friends - is in danger because of me. And I can't rescue her because of the _bloody_ traffic!" He actually said something _a lot_ worse than that.

"Sherlock!" Mycroft yelled, horrified at his little brother. He cleared his throat. "We'll be there soon, don't worry."

"Don't worry? Don't _worry_?! Do you have any idea what Moriarty is capable of?!"

"Yes, I do," he paused, "This Hooper girl means a lot to you, doesn't she?"

"Yes, she does," Sherlock said, his voice little more than a whisper. He frowned. "She means an awful lot to me, Mycroft. I don't want her to get hurt."

"It might be too late for that, Lockie."

Sherlock cast his brother a puzzled expression and then, astonishingly, smiled.

"Well, lets just hope for the best, Croft."

...

They arrived about half an hour later. Sherlock was convinced that Moriarty had somehow organised the traffic jam to stop them getting there sooner.

He sprinted out of the car and towards the front door. He tried to force it open, with little success. Mycroft walked over and gave him a key.

As the two men stepped into the house, they were confronted by the menacing figure of James Moriarty. His hands were in his pockets and he had a psychopathic grin plastered on his face.

"Hello again, Sherlock," he said, "It's been a while."

"Where is she?" Sherlock demanded answers. The criminal chuckled.

"Find her yourself."

He made his way to the door, but Sherlock seized hold of his arm.

"I swear, if you've laid a finger on her-"

"Let him go, Sherlock." Mycroft interrupted. Sherlock obeyed and Moriarty walked outside, laughing to himself.

"Molly!" Sherlock yelled, at the top of his voice. He rushed up the stairs, shouting her name over and over again. When he reached the first floor, he could hear her sobbing.

Sherlock burst into the room. Molly was sitting on a bed, clutching her knees. The only thing covering her was a red sheet. She looked up at him as he entered. Her eyes were filled with tears. Her cheeks were red. Her lips were swolen and there was a nasty bruise on her cheek.

"Molly."

He swallowed hard. Molly saw the Adam's apple bob up and down in his throat. She was relieved that he was here, but she wished that he would have come sooner.

The tall, curly-haired detective walked over to her slowly, his mouth open slightly, like he couldn't believe what he was seeing. He kneeled down and looked her in the eye.

"I am sorry," he said quietly, "This should never have happened."

He put his arms around Molly and planted a soft kiss on her forehead. She waited for a second before hugging him back. Mycroft was now standing in the doorway. He looked at Molly and nodded. She tried her best to smile at him.

"It's alright. You're safe now." Sherlock assured her. Molly sniffled. "We're going to take you home now, Molly. He's not going to hurt you again, I promise."

"Mycroft," he said, not bothering to turn around, "Can you give us a moment?"

"Of course."

Once Mycroft was gone, Sherlock pulled away from Molly and wiped all of her tears away with the back of his hand. He stood up, took off his long, black coat and handed it to her. She stared up at him with wide eyes, like she was pleading. He understood what she was trying to say and turned around.

Molly stood up and wrapped the coat around herself. It was much too big. She fastened _all_ of the buttons and then tapped Sherlock on the shoulder. He turned back to face her and smiled.

...

The three of them walked outside into the cold. Sherlock had his arm around Molly, and her head was rested on his shoulder. They got into the car; this time Mycroft drove and the other two sat in the back.

Sherlock noticed that Molly was crying again and took hold of her hand.

"Molly, don't be scared," he whispered, "I won't let him hurt you again."

**Chapter fifteen! There you go! I love writing this so much so... Yeah. :)**


	16. I'm Sorry

**Hi! I'm not going to ramble on for ages... So, here is chapter sixteen:**

"No, I said take the _second_ left! Idiot!"

Mycroft sighed in despair. Now they had rescued Molly, Sherlock was back to his usual arrogant self.

"Are you deaf or something, Mycroft?" he yelled, "This is the wrong way!"

Molly smiled to herself. She was still traumatized after her experiences that night, but with Sherlock around she felt safe. It was funny hearing him shout at his brother.

"Sherlock, if we took the second left we'd be headed towards Baker Street." Mycroft informed.

"Oh."

Sherlock closed his eyes. How could he be so _stupid_?! His brain wasn't functioning at maximum capacity; he needed to recharge. Coffee would certainly do the trick. Molly was good at making coffee.

"Molly, when we get back to your flat I need you to make me coffee."

There was a screech of tyres as the car stopped abruptly. Mycroft turned round and glared at his brother, his expression somewhere between anger and disbelief. _Same old Sherlock, _Molly thought.

"Sherlock," Mycroft began slowly, like he was addressing a child, "Think about what has happened to Miss Hooper. Do you _really_ think she wants to make coffee after _that_?" Sherlock cast his brother a confused look.

"I-it's okay," Molly stuttered, "I'll make coffee for you, Sherlock."

He nodded at her thankfully and then turned his attention back to his sibling.

"You see, Mycroft? She's fine."

Mycroft shook his head and exhaled deeply.

"Miss Hooper, don't feel obliged to do what he tells you," told Mycroft, "And remember Sherlock, she isn't your servant."

"She _likes_ helping me, Mycroft," Sherlock responded, "It's not as if I force her."

"Oh, Sherlock, you've got _a lot_ to learn."

Mycroft continued driving. Sherlock pondered over what to say.

"Are you alright, now?" asked Sherlock softly. Molly nodded. He patted her shoulder awkwardly, grimacing. He wasn't very good at this caring lark.

"I'm fine," Molly replied, half asleep. She let out a yawn.

...

The car pulled up on the driveway. Molly and Sherlock got out and made their way to the front door.

"Sherlock," Mycroft called. His brother turned around, a little vexed. "Don't do anything stupid." Sherlock pouted. He hated being treated like a five-year old.

The two of them entered the flat. Toby greeted them with a friendly 'meow', and then wandered outside.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Sherlock persisted, as Molly took a seat on the sofa. She smiled at him. "I'm sorry, I-"

"You don't have to keep apologising," Molly said, "It wasn't your fault."

"It feels like it was my fault." The lanky detective sat down next to her and sighed.

"Do you still want me to make you coffee?"

"Yes, if you don't mind-" Sherlock paused and thought better of it, "No, it's alright, I'll make my own."

"Are you sure?" Sherlock looked at her, puzzled.

"Yes, I'm sure. Would you like one too?"

Molly blinked. _Did Sherlock Holmes just offer to make me coffee?! _

"Milk one sugar, isn't it?" he asked, walking into the small kitchen.

"Y-yeah."

"Right."

He turned around and cast her an enigmatic smile, before taking two mugs out of the cupboard. One of them was plain white and the other had a picture of a kitten.

"Why don't you go and get changed?" Sherlock suggested, "My coat is far too big for you."

"Okay," the mouse of a woman replied, standing up. She walked through the kitchen and into her bedroom.

The design was relatively simple. The walls were a pale shade of pink and the carpet was cream. All of the furniture was made of pine wood. There was a patchwork quilt spread over the double bed, obviously hand-made. Fairy lights hung across the back wall and there were a few stuffed toys on the end of the bed; it looked like a little girl's bedroom.

Molly opened one of the closet drawers. She selected a pair of pink pyjama pants and a floral sweat top from _Cath Kidston_. She stared at herself in the mirror with a forlorn expression. That bruise would raise a lot of questions with her friends and colleagues...

_Work!_

Molly's shift was supposed to start at eight; she had night shifts a lot. How was she going to explain this one to her boss?!

**Boom! And there you go. Molly is _finally_ safe... Or is she?! Mwahahaha! Well done ****to anyone who spotted the 'hounds of Baskerville' quote... It's quite a tricky one, but it's not impossible! :)**


	17. Perfect

**Hi guys! This is chapter seventeen... I don't have anything else to say, other than thanks for all your lovely comments and reviews and stuff! Thanks to everyone who reads this!**

"Sherlock," Molly said, as she walked back into the kitchen, "My shift was supposed to start _hours_ ago."

"Leave it with me; I'll get Mycroft to sort it."

"R-really? You'd do that for me?" Sherlock's brows furrowed. He looked up at her from where he was sat.

"Of course," he stated plainly, "You're my friend and, after everything you've been through tonight, it's the least I can do."

Molly beamed at him, showing her pearly white teeth.

"Thanks, Sherlock."

"You're welcome."

He felt a pang of sadness when she turned away. She blushed and giggled nervously. She looked so... adorable? Beautiful? Perfect? Sherlock didn't know. He settled for the latter.

"So," Molly said, interrupting his thoughts (thank God), "How was lunch with Mycroft?" Sherlock blinked. He had forgotten about that - no, he had deleted it. It was pointless and irrelevant. He loathed his brother and he didn't really want to talk about him at present. He didn't want to talk _at all_. However, for Molly's sake, he decided to make an effort.

"It was arduous," he informed, "He made me stay all day. Idiot." He muttered the last word under his breath, hoping Molly wouldn't hear him. She did, of course, and giggled even more. Sherlock joined in with her; his laugh was strong and low whereas her's was soft and quiet. The contrast in itself was most amusing.

After about a minute, Sherlock stopped laughing and he suddenly looked sad. Troubled. Even a little bit cross.

"Sherlock? You okay?" Molly inquired worriedly. Sherlock didn't even respond; he just sat there, staring at his coffee. Something had obviously upset him. But Molly hadn't said anything so... What was it?

Moments ago, Sherlock had noticed the scratch marks on Molly's neck. There were four of them; each a couple of inches long, but not too deep. They were all parallel and equal length, with less than a centimetre between them. Evidently, they were made by fingernails. Sharp fingernails. _Manicured_ fingernails. The thought of Moriarty digging his nails into her smooth skin made Sherlock's blood boil.

"Sherlock?" she tried again, her concern growing. He looked up quickly and gave her a wry smile.

"Hm? Yeah. Fine." he replied hurriedly, "I should be worrying about _you,_ not the other way round!" Molly sighed.

"I'm okay, Sherlock," told Molly, "You rescued me and I'm really grateful."

"You've heard the saying: 'prevention is better than cure'," his tone of voice was slightly frightening.

"Sherlock?"

"I could have stopped this happening. If only I'd listened to Mycroft for once... If I'd have arrived sooner, maybe you wouldn't be this badly hurt..."

"Sherlock..."

"And we let Moriarty get away. He could come after you again. He could do something much worse-"

"Sherlock, stop it! You're scaring me!"

Sherlock stopped rambling immediately. He looked at Molly, his head tilted to one side so he resembled a confused puppy. His eyes narrowed and his lips parted slightly.

"I'm... sorry..." he held onto the _s_ for much too long, so the word almost sounded painful. _What did I say wrong? I don't understand. She trusts me; why would she be scared?_

He looked directly into her eyes. He had never noticed how _beautiful_ they were until now.

_Stop being stupid, Sherlock. Eyes cannot be beautiful._

"I-it's alright," she responded bashfully. _Her_ eyes were fixed on his diamond ones; they were locked in each other's gaze. A silence lingered for a few seconds. Not the usual awkward silence, but a comfortable silence. It made Molly feel a whole lot better. For a short period of time she forgot about all the terrible things that had happened to her and all she could think about was Sherlock. Arrogant, pompous, total _git_ Sherlock. And he was thinking about her too. Shy, mousy Molly Hooper. The moment was just magical.

**OH. MY. GOD. I love Sherlolly _so_ much! I just wish it would actually happen. Come on, Mofftiss, do me proud!**

**Thanks for reading this, once again. I wouldn't post this if it wasn't for you lovely people you! I love you all! :)**


	18. Hold on to that feeling

**Hello folks. Before I begin, I just want to say that I made a mistake! In chapter four it said it was Molly's day off, and in later chapters it said she had missed work. I've corrected it now, but it's embarrassing nonetheless! That just proves you should always check these things. Anyway, this is Chapter 18 of 'alone'. I hope you enjoy it!**

_Don't stop believin'! Hold on to that feelin'! _

They couldn't hold onto 'that feeling' any longer. As soon as Molly's phone rang, they both snapped back to reality and the magical moment was gone.

"Who would be ringing at this time of night?" Molly asked, walking over to the coffee table. She picked up her white iPhone 2 (she didn't see the point in buying the latest model) and checked who was calling. It was Detective Inspector Lestrade.

"Hi Greg!" Molly greeted cheerily. Sherlock was puzzled; where had he heard that name before? Greg?

"Hey Molly," replied Lestrade, "Are you okay? I went to Bart's but you weren't there. Are you ill?"

"Oh, er, no. I was, er..." she didn't know what to tell him, "I, er, I'm just stuck in traffic."

_Oh, that was the worst excuse ever! _

"You've been stuck in traffic for nearly seven hours?!" Greg asked. If it was anyone else, they would have probably laughed at her, but Greg sounded genuinely worried. "I don't believe that, Moll; I can tell when you're lying."

Molly looked at Sherlock as if to say '_what do I do?!_'. He didn't respond.

"Molly," Lestrade continued, "Is everything alright? Are you hurt?" Silence. "Your boss said you missed your shift and you've not told anyone why. Molly? Molly, what's the matter?"

She wiped the tears away and sniffled.

"It's fine," she lied, "I'm okay. I'm fine."

"You don't sound fine to me. Right, I'm coming over, okay? Are you at home?"

"No, Greg you can't!"

"I'm not taking no for an answer, Moll. There's obviously something wrong."

"Lestrade-"

"I'll be there soon, okay?"

"Greg, please-" she pleaded, but he had already hung up.

"What do I do, Sherlock?" she asked, her hands now trembling, "He's on his way over! He knows my address; h-he came here once to interview me about J-" Molly gulped. She couldn't say his name. "Look, Sherlock, y-you have to hide somewhere."

"Yes. Fine. Whatever."

"Sherlock, are you even listening to me?"

Sherlock looked up at her with a sheepish smile spread across his face. Molly sighed, exhausted, and slumped down onto the sofa.

"If he comes here, he'll see this-" she pointed to her cheekbone, where the bruise was, "And he'll know something is wrong. He'll probably take me in for questioning and-"

"Molly," Sherlock cut in, his expression serious, "It will be fine. Just tell him you... fell down the stairs."

"Sherlock, my flat doesn't have any stairs; I live on the ground floor."

"You could have fallen down the stairs at work."

"I take the lift at work. And I haven't been there all night."

Sherlock was most definitely fighting a losing battle and he didn't like it one bit.

"Fine," he snapped, "Tell him the truth, seeing as you're too much of a nervous wreck to come up with a suitable excuse. It's not as if he cares, anyway. Nobody cares about mousy little Molly."

The words stung. Molly's eyes filled with tears. How could anyone be so mean?! She couldn't face up to him this time. She ran into her bedroom and wept into the pillow.

And Sherlock sat there in silence, wondering why he had said such a _horrible_ thing. It wasn't true. Lots of people cared about her. _He_ cared about her an awful lot. But now she probably hated him.

**Thanks for reading! The reason I used don't stop believing for Molly's ringtone was because according to her blog she's a bit of a gleek and that's the song I think of when someone says 'glee'. Also, I found the 'hold on to that feeling' quite ironic, because the song totally ruins the moment. It's supposed to be the glee cast version of the song. I'm not really a gleek myself (though I do like the show). I am obsessed with Sherlock; totally Sherlocked, Benedicted, Mollified and whatever else. And I also love big bang and how I met your mother. So basically I love great British drama _and_ American sitcoms. ;) ****Also, Lestrade is one of my favourite characters so I wanted to include him in this! He's just _so_ sarcastic, and did you see his face at the Christmas party? He certainly has a thing for Molly. :D**


	19. Don't stop believing

**Ok, the storyline is going really quickly. That is all I have to say.**

The doorbell rang.

Molly trekked over to the front door, wiped her eyes and took a deep breath. Sherlock was gone; she didn't know where. All of his things were still in the flat, so she couldn't let Greg inside, in case he saw. She was glad Sherlock was gone. He had said some terrible things to her. She figured that a friendly face would cheer her up a bit.

"Greg," she greeted, trying her best to smile.

"Molly," he responded compassionately, "You've been crying. What's wrong?"

Then he noticed the blue mark on her skin. He raised a hand. Molly flinched and stumbled backwards.

"Molly?" he asked, confused as well as concerned. She bit her lip, holding back the tears.

"I-I'm sorry, t-that was silly of me."

"Let me have a look at that."

Molly hesitated for a moment. _He's Greg, he's not going to hurt you! _She took a step forward. Lestrade gently stroked the bruise. He had worked in the police force long enough to know that this hadn't been an accident.

"Molly, who did this to you?" Molly gulped and turned away from him, "Molly, you can tell me."

"N-no, I can't," she cried helplessly, "I-it's complicated, Greg-"

"Molly, I work at Scotland Yard, I can help you."

"Greg, no. I mean, no, it's fine. Just leave me alone. Please." She tried to shut the door on him, but he pushed it back open.

"Molly, I mean it. I _want_ to help you."

"I just..." Molly thought for a moment, "I fell down the stairs-"

"Why did you miss work?" Greg interrogated.

"I... I don't know, I just... I..."

"And why did you lie to me?"

Molly couldn't hold back the tears any longer. She didn't like being asked so many different questions.

"I... I don't..."

Greg put his arms around her and she cried into his shirt.

"Molly, you've got to tell someone," he said. He kissed the top of her head. "Please, Molly, tell me who did this."

Someone coughed appropriately behind them. Lestrade turned around quickly, still clutching Molly protectively. It took him a while to process who the intruder was.7

"Moriarty?" Greg was puzzled. Molly clung onto him like a sloth, her eyes wide and alert.

"R-Richard Brook," the man spluttered nervously, "I-I'm sorry if I'm intruding." Molly wanted to say something; to tell Greg he was a liar. She wanted Greg to make him go away, but she didn't have the courage to speak up.

"No, that's okay..." Lestrade seemed unsure. He still thoroughly believed that 'Richard Brook' was a fake and Sherlock was a good man. "What are you doing here?"

"I-I just came to s-see Molly," 'Brook' replied, "S-she's my g-girlfriend."

Molly suddenly felt very vulnerable. She wasn't brave enough to challenge Moriarty. So if Lestrade believed him and walked away, anything could happen.

"I don't believe that," Greg said, "You dated her when you were 'pretending' to be Moriarty. You broke her heart. Why would she take you back now?"

"B-because I explained that Sh-Sherlock made me do it and she felt sorry for me."

"Is this true, Molly?"

She looked up at Jim. His eyes bored into her, clearly a threat.

_What on Earth do I do now?!_

"Molly?" She came back to her senses when Greg said her name.

"Er..." _I know I'll regret this, _"He's... Yeah, it is. He's my... boyfriend, we're..."

"Going steady," Jim piped in, "Now, if you don't mind, can I have my girlfriend back?"

Lestrade quickly let go of Molly.

"Oh, yes, right, sorry." He wasn't buying any of this. He figured that 'Richard' was the one who had done this to Molly, but he left the two of them in peace anyway. He would regret that decision and a part of him knew it.

**I'M HANGING OFF A CLIFF SURROUNDED BY DOTS ... ARGH! I can't wait to write more! Thanks for reading! ;)**


	20. Alone, but not for long

**Here it is! :D**

Lestrade came to a halt as he got half way across the street. He could have sworn he heard Molly shout his name. He turned around and sprinted back towards her flat.

Moriarty was standing in the doorway with Molly in front of him. He had one arm wrapped around her waist, restraining her, and one clamped over her mouth to silence her screams. She struggled and squirmed, trying to escape his grasp. He was too strong.

"Let her go." the inspector demanded.

"Or what? You'll arrest me?" Jim mocked.

"Maybe I will."

The consulting criminal let out a half laugh.

"You ordinary people are _so_ funny," he told, "I can't _believe_ you fell for my little trick."

"I'm here now, aren't I?"

"Yes, but you've left it too late. One wrong move and I'll blow her brains out."

Molly sharply drew in a breath.

"Oh, don't worry, sweetheart," he gave her a kiss on the cheek, "I'm not going to kill you just yet."

"She doesn't deserve this," said Lestrade, fists clenched in anger.

"No, I agree," replied Moriarty, "That's why it's _so_ much fun. And no doubt Sherlock will be totally pissed off."

Lestrade stared at him like he was thick.

"Sherlock's dead," he informed, "Surely you must know that?"

"Oh, so he doesn't know yet?" Jim directed his question at Molly.

"Know what?" Greg was baffled.

"I've no time for chit-chat, Lestrade. I'll leave you two in peace so Molly can... fill you in."

He let go of her and she collapsed against Greg. He held her tightly, like a father would hold their child. Moriarty disappeared.

"Are you okay?" Molly nodded.

"I'm... fine..." she said in between sobs, "It's... fine... I... I'm..."

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have left. I knew something was wrong but I still left you with that psycho," he paused, "What was he talking about before?"

"Greg..."

"All that business with Sherlock?" he stepped back, away from Molly, "What was he on about? Because Sherlock's dead... isn't he?"

Molly looked up at him and shook her head.

"He was... he was just winding you up. Sherlock is... dead. I did the post-mortem myself." _oh, God, I hate lying! _"I'm sorry."

"No it's... alright," Lestrade replied with a sigh, "I'm sorry this happened to you. But at least this means that Sherlock wasn't a fraud." Molly nodded in agreement. "What did he do to you exactly?"

"He..." Molly hesitated. Right now he was her only confident. Sherlock certainly wasn't coming back in a hurry. "I don't really... I don't want to talk about it right now." Greg nodded.

"Alright," he said, "I understand. It's been a long night; I get it." Molly smiled at him.

"Thanks for helping me out. I was really scared you might not come back."

"Do you want me to stay with you for the rest of the night? I mean, Moriarty could come back, couldn't he?"

"W-well, I d-don't think that's a very good idea..." Molly stuttered, "I mean, there's only the one bedroom and..."

"Yeah, I get the picture, Moll."

"Sorry."

He patted her shoulder.

"You take care of yourself, alright?"

"Yeah. I will. Thanks Greg."

"You're welcome, Molly."

...

"Why did you let 'im go?" Wiggins asked Sherlock. They were both sitting on the curb outside 235 Baker Street, a few yards away from 221B. It was risky, but it was the middle of the night so Sherlock knew he wasn't in _too_ _much _danger.

"My brother," he sighed, "I wish I hadn't listened to him now. He could go after Molly again-" Sherlock stopped abruptly, "I left her on her own. What if Moriarty takes her again?"

"Hey, Guv, don't worry!" told Wiggins, "You said that detective bloke was visitin' 'er."

"You're right, Wiggins," replied Sherlock, "She'll be fine."

...

As soon as Greg left, Molly felt exposed. She bolted all the windows, locked the door and shut all the curtains. She curled up on the sofa with her blanket. She jumped every time she heard a noise.

_Meow!_

Toby was locked outside. But what could she _do_? What if Moriarty was waiting for her?!

_Grow up and get a grip, Molly Hooper!_

She got a knife from the kitchen and opened the door...

"Oh, nice to see you too, Miss Hooper."

It was Mycroft. He wandered inside, without even asking for permission, and Toby followed after him. The cat seemed to think his umbrella was a toy; he kept pouncing on it.

"You might want to house train your pet," Mycroft suggested, "It's a little on the wild side."

"What do you want, Mr Holmes?" Molly asked. She was fed up of him turning up unannounced; it happened a lot now that Sherlock was staying with her.

"I need to talk to you about my brother."

**So that was chapter twenty! Drama, drama, drama! Grr, don't you love drama!? I told you Moriarty would be back ;). Bit of a lame bit, though, when he just leaves. Oh well.**


	21. Not so fraternal

**Here is chapter twenty one! It contains snippits from ****_Lockie_**** and ****_Croft_****'s childhood, and lots of things that make Sherlock angry. Teehee! I love winding him up!**

**Thanks to everyone who left a review, followed, favourited or even just read my story! :)**

"Has he said anything to you?" asked Mycroft, taking a seat on the sofa. Molly placed the knife on the kitchen table and then returned to the living room.

"Sorry?"

"Has Sherlock said anything?" Mycroft repeated. Molly looked at him, confused.

"Said anything about what?" she questioned.

"Oh, nothing," responded Mycroft, "I know about Moriarty," Molly flinched at the mention of his name. "I know he came back. I'm sorry I wasn't there to help."

_Sorry for being lazy, more like._

"Are you alright now, Miss Hooper?"

"What? Yes, oh, fine," she paused, "Call me Molly." She didn't like being called by her last name. And besides, she wasn't 'Miss Hooper', she was 'Doctor Hooper'.

"Well, 'Molly'," Mycroft replied with a hint of sarcasm, "I wish other people were as brave as you are."

_Brave? I'm just pathetic little Molly. _

"Well anyway, I better go-"

"Don't leave," Molly said as Mycroft rose. His brows furrowed. "Please. I... I don't feel safe when I'm on my own." Mycroft considered this for a second, sighed and sat back down.

"Fine."

...

"Mycroft? What the hell are you doing here?!"

Sherlock slammed the door behind him and looked daggers at his brother. Mycroft was sitting on the sofa next to Molly; much too close for Sherlock's liking.

"I came to ask Molly something. She wanted me to stay."

_Oh, so you're calling her Molly now, are you? What's changed?_

"Y-yeah, I felt uncomfortable on my own." Molly added.

"What happened to Lestrade?"

"He left a while ago when J-" Molly paused, "I mean... er..." She didn't want to worry Sherlock. _He doesn't care anyway, _she thought.

Mycroft raised a hand to stop Molly rambling.

"Moriarty came back." he informed.

"What?!" Sherlock was taken aback.

"He came back and he... attacked her."

Sherlock was furious. Not because of Moriarty - he was mad enough with him already - but because of Mycroft. The elder Holmes brother took hold of Molly's hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. Sherlock glared at him. His brother was being far too... over-familiar.

"What did he do to you, Molly?" Sherlock asked eventually.

"He held a gun to my head," said Molly, "B-but I'm okay. He nearly blew our cover as well."

"What?"

"H-he told Lestrade that you were alive-"

"Implied," Mycroft interrupted her, "He _implied_ that you were alive. I heard the whole conversation; Inspector Lestrade doesn't suspect a thing."

_That was a lie, _thought Molly,_ he was really suspicious_.

"So Lestrade knows about Moriarty?" Silence. "Well, he's not just going to let him get away, is he?" More silence. "We have to stop him before he tells anyone else!"

"I don't want the police involved with this." Molly chipped in.

"Right, well, I'll-"

Sherlock stopped when he noticed Mycroft's hand rested on Molly's thigh. She didn't _seem_ to notice.

"Can I talk to you for a second, _brother dear_?"

He led Mycroft into the hall.

"What was that?!" he yelled, fuming. Mycroft smirked.

"I don't know _what_ you're talking about."

"You know exactly what," Sherlock continued, with a sharp emphasis on the word 'what', "You were touching her up, for God's sake!"

"Why would you care?" Mycroft questioned, "You're not jealous, are you, Lockie?"

"No! Of course not!" the consulting detective snapped, "Mycroft," his voice was suddenly a lot quieter and calmer, "Next time you pull a stunt like that, consider what she has been through. It's lucky she didn't notice."

...

Molly wrung her hands nervously and nibbled her lip. She had always thought Mycroft was shifty, but not to this level! Maybe she had made a mistake inviting him to stay? Maybe he got the wrong impression? She didn't know, but she didn't want him here any longer.

"Sherlock..." she called, rather quietly. He peered round the door and smiled falsely.

"Hm?"

"Can I borrow you for a sec?"

Sherlock walked back into the room, shutting the door after him so Mycroft couldn't follow.

"Did you..." Molly whispered, "Did you see what your brother did?"

"Yes, I did," answered Sherlock, thinking _I see everything; I'm Sherlock Holmes_.

"C-can you tell him... I mean, I don't... I don't really-"

"I've just had a word with him," Sherlock butted in, "It won't happen again. It was just Mycroft being... Mycroft."

"Is he normally that... pervy?" Molly couldn't think of any other way of wording it.

"You should have seen him in university," chuckled her flatmate, "It's silly, really. You should just ignore him."

"Right. I'll do that."

Sherlock opened the door and let Mycroft back in.

"Thanks for locking me out. I can see where you got your name from, Sher_lock_."

"Actually, I was named after my golden locks; Sherlock means 'fair haired'." Molly was puzzled.

"Hold on," she interrupted, "_Golden_ locks?"

"I-" Sherlock got cut off by Mycroft.

"He had blonde hair when he was a small child. We called him 'Goldilocks'."

Sherlock looked irritated, but Mycroft smiled as he reminisced over their childhood.

"Those were the days when he wanted to be a pirate." the government official continued.

"Mycroft, I'm warning you. Don't-"

"He had a teddy bear with an eyepatch. What was his name again, Lockie?"

"Mycroft..." Sherlock was obviously not amused, but Molly found it hard not to laugh.

"Oh, yes, I remember!" Mycroft smiled at his brother triumphantly, "His name was _Captain Teddles_."

Molly giggled, and then quickly clamped a hand over her mouth. Sherlock looked at his brother, unimpressed.

"Get out!"

**There you go! A bit more humour than last time! I always imagine Mycroft as very... what's the word? Well, the exact oposite of Sherlock, anyway. Captain Teddles has been brewing in my brain for some time. Oh dear! :D**


	22. The heart always wins

**Chapter twenty two! Random fact: in a study in pink, Sherlock (or rather John) tells the murderer of Jennifer Wilson to meet him at 22 Northumberland Gardens. Random fact. Ignore it. Please. Delete it. It's random and pointless. Please. Delete. EXTERMINATE!**

"Sorry about all that." Sherlock said, more for his own benefit.

"It's okay, 'Lockie'." Molly joked. As much as Sherlock despised the nickname, it was comforting to know that Molly was back to her usual self. She was stronger than he had first anticipated.

"You look tired. You should go and get some sleep."

Molly took Sherlock's advice. As soon as she was in bed, she fell sound asleep.

...

_"Don't worry sweetheart, I'm not going to kill you just yet..."_

Molly woke with a start. She screamed. Moriarty's voice had been haunting her in her sleep.

_Just a dream, just a dream..._

"Molly?" Sherlock looked and sounded worried. He was standing just outside her bedroom, dressed in a grey t-shirt and azure pyjama trousers. "What's wrong?"

"I-I'm okay, it was just a nightmare." Toby jumped off the bed and wandered into the kitchen; he was trying to sleep and he didn't like all the noise.

Sherlock thought for a second.

"Move over." he said plainly, approaching the bed.

"W-what?" stuttered Molly.

"You're obviously scared. You'll feel a lot safer if there's someone in the room with you."

Sherlock pulled back the covers and clambered into bed next to her. She was left in shock for a few seconds before she came to her senses.

"Sherlock..."

"Molly, you need to sleep," he informed, "If you feel safe, then you're obviously going to sleep more easily."

"B-but Sherlock-"

"Molly, trust me." She did trust him. She trusted him with her life.

Molly's heart was racing. Her eyeballs were nearly popping out of their sockets. It was a tremendous effort not to giggle in glee. This close proximity to Sherlock made her feel like a giddy school girl.

"Molly, please calm down." Sherlock said. He had noticed the change in her behaviour. She blushed and apologised profusely. "Molly, you're rambling again."

"S-sorry."

...

Molly woke up. She could feel Sherlock's chest rise and fall beneath her.

_What?!_

She gasped and sat up quickly, waking Sherlock in the process. He gave her a funny look.

"Why did you do that?" he asked.

"Y-you... I-I... I don't know, I..."

"Come here."

_Come here? What does he mean come here?!_

Sherlock answered the question for her. He put his arm around her and pulled her close, so her head was resting on his chest again.

"Sh-Sherlock, w-what are you-"

"Molly, I need to tell you something." Sherlock's voice was serious and authoritative.

"O-okay. What is it?"

"Well, it's something Crof- Mycroft said. I was thinking that maybe I'm-" He stopped. His brother was always wrong about these things. "Never mind."

"No, Sherlock, what is it?"

"It's fine. Don't worry about it."

His head told him he was making the right decision. He had never listened to Mycroft before; why start now? He was only going to regret it. He didn't _love_ Molly. Not like that. That's what his head told him. But his heart...

_"This is your head and you should never let it rule your heart."_

No. There was no point even _trying_ to believe it. He was _not_ in love with her. Nope. Definitely not. Not even one little bit.

**Thanks for reading! I included a quote from scandal this time. Sherlock used to call Mycroft 'Croft' when he was a kid, and occasionally he still does. But he doesn't want Molly to hear him say it. :P**


	23. The morning after

**Chapter 23, with more Sherlollyness! :D**

"Sherlock?"

Molly woke up alone. She wondered whether all of last night had been a dream. She could hear a voice coming from the kitchen. At first, she thought it was Jim, and she felt terrified. But it wasn't Jim; it was Sherlock. _Why is he talking to himself? _she thought.

"You're not welcome here," Sherlock said bitterly, "Not after last night."

"Oh, grow up, Sherlock!"

Molly bit her lip. Mycroft was here too. She looked at the digital alarm clock on her beside table. Mycroft Holmes was in her flat at 8:00 in the morning; unannounced, uninvited, unwelcome.

"I mean it, Mycroft. What you did was... unforgivable."

"You always have to be so melodramatic." Mycroft sighed.

"And you always have to be so intrusive!" retorted Sherlock, "In more ways than one." he added scornfully.

Tentatively, Molly strode into the kitchen. Sherlock was sat in his usual place and Mycroft was leaning against the countertop. The former had a face like thunder and the latter looked infuriated, but as soon as Molly entered they smiled at her (although in Sherlock's case it was more like a sneer).

"Good morning, Miss Hooper," Mycroft said, "Did you sleep well?"

"Y-yeah, it was okay." Molly responded. Part of her was glad that he wasn't calling her 'Molly' anymore. She hesitated before asking: "Do you want a drink?"

_Why does Molly have to be so polite to everyone? _queried Sherlock, _including Mycroft._

"A cup of tea would be lovely, thank you." answered Mycroft. Molly looked at Sherlock. It took him a second to register her.

"Oh, er, coffee. Black. Two sugars." a pause of consideration, "Please." Mycroft rolled his eyes and took a seat opposite Sherlock so Molly could make the drinks.

"Haven't you got somewhere to be, Mycroft?" Sherlock asked, impatient for his brother to leave.

"I don't need to be at the office for another two hours," his brother stated, "And besides, it's nice to visit my little brother once in a while."

"Once in a while, Mycroft, not once every few hours," Sherlock leaned over the table and whispered: "This is about Molly, isn't it?"

"Yet again, I don't know what you're talking about."

For a few seconds, Mycroft and Sherlock were taking part in what appeared to be a 'staring contest'. It seemed a little childish of them. Molly could have sworn she saw Sherlock smile when Mycroft blinked.

A few silent moments past.

"H-here you are," Molly stuttered, placing the mugs down on the table, "One black coffee and one cuppa tea."

Molly stood awkwardly watching them drink. There were only two seats.

"Would you like to sit down, Miss Hooper?" Mycroft inquired, reading her mind. She shook her head.

"That's okay, M-Mr Holmes. I'll be alright up here. It's not like I've broken my ankle or anything."

Sherlock smiled to himself. Molly's useless attempts at jokes always cheered him up. She still seemed slightly uncomfortable around Mycroft (_who wouldn't be?_) which made Sherlock feel uncomfortable too.

...

"What time does your next shift start?" Sherlock asked Molly once Mycroft was gone.

"It's not until tomorow morning," she replied, "They give me funny slots because, well, I don't have anything better to do."

"Will you be alright going back to work this soon?"

"Sherlock," Molly smiled at him thankfully, "It's nice of you to ask, but I'll be fine."

"I'm just worried about you, that's all," Sherlock told, "I don't want you to be sad."

"I'm not sad," said Molly hurriedly, "I'm_ scared_, but I'm not _sad_."

"I don't want you to be scared either."

"I'm not scared when I'm with you."

"You're not with me when you're at work."

Molly gulped. That was true.

"I wish I was," she sighed, "It's so lonely in the morgue and... I..." _love you, _"Like you very much."

"I," _love you too, _"Like you too."

**Thanks for reading! OMG I love Sherlolly :D**


	24. The Hunger Games

**Hello! Again, thanks for everyone's lovely comments! They cheer me up! Thanks for reading! :)**

_"Sherlock, I love you."_

_"I love you too, Molly."_

Molly let out a forlorn sigh. She had heard that conversation so many times before in her head. And that was the way it was going to stay. She didn't have the courage to tell Sherlock that she loved him. And he didn't love her full stop. It was nice to know that he at least _liked_ her. Although he could have just been saying that to be polite.

Sherlock was currently in the bathroom. He had a shower pretty much every day. Molly had never known another man who was so meticulous about hygiene!

She flicked through the channels and, much to her disappointment, there was nothing of interest on the telly. She watched a few minutes of _Jeremy Kyle, _before quickly turning the television off. There were enough _beeps_ on that show to last a lifetime. She decided to read a book instead. She had read it three times already. _I'm such a nerd._

...

"Come on Katniss, run!"

This was what Sherlock heard when he emerged from his shower. Molly was reading a book entitled '_the Hunger Games_'. She appeared to be talking to the book, although rather quietly.

"Molly, it can't hear you; it's a book."

Molly gasped and slammed it shut. She turned to face Sherlock, her cheeks bright red, and smiled at him nervously. She blushed even more when she saw what he was wearing: a white sheet (and _only_ a white sheet).

"I-I didn't see you there Sherlock," she said, "I was reading the-"

"Hunger Games," Sherlock interrupted, "I _can_ read, Molly."

"W-what time is it?" asked Molly.

"Half past ten." stated Sherlock.

"That was rather a long shower, Sherlock," Molly knew she would have a big water bill this month, "Is there something on your mind?"

Sherlock's brows furrowed. Why would he have a long shower if something was bothering him?

"No."

"Oh. Right. Okay."

...

"Sherlock, what time is it?" Molly asked, for the second time that day. It had been a while since she spoke to Sherlock. He was playing his violin whilst she read her book. She was already up to _Mockingjay_.

"Ten to one." Sherlock replied.

"I better make some lunch," said Molly, "Do you want anything?"

Sherlock grunted in response, which didn't help Molly at all.

"Sherlock, do you want me to make you some lunch?" she tried again.

There was a pause, and then Sherlock sprung into action. He put his violin and bow down on the armchair and rushed into the kitchen.

"There's no need for that, Molly," he said, "I can make lunch."

"You're going to make lunch?" Molly was shocked, "You'd do that for me?"

"More for myself, actually," Sherlock lied, "I'm _starving_."

The truth was he wasn't hungry at all. But Molly didn't need to know that. He was playing games with her; the hunger games, if you will.

**Ha ha! That's so cheesy! Yes, I am an avid hunger games fan. The books are better than the movie, though. I like catching fire the best. But anyway, THIS IS SHERLOCK! So go away, Katniss, Rue, Cato, Peeta and all you other tributes! :D**


	25. Almost a dream come true

**Here it is! Chapter 25! Thanks again for all your lovely reviews! :)**

"Lunch." said Sherlock, throwing a packet of crisps at Molly. She stared at him, confused. "I made you lunch."

"Sherlock, it's a packet of crisps..."

"Yes, alright," Sherlock sighed, "I didn't actually _make_ lunch."

"Crisps do not count as lunch."

She remembered the time when he came into Bart's one day, demanding her assistance...

_"Molly!" he said._

_"Oh, hello, I'm just going out." was her meek response._

_"No you're not."_

_"I've got a lunch date..."_

_"Cancel it: you're having lunch with me." _

_"What?" Sherlock produced two packets of_ quavers_ from his coat pockets._

That memory always amused Molly. Sherlock clearly had no idea when it came to simple, mundane things such as lunch.

"Molly." Sherlock interrupted her thoughts, "Are you going to eat them?"

"Er. Yeah." Molly gingerly opened the packet. She took a crisp and placed it into her mouth. She chewed slowly, savouring the flavour. "Mmm... This is really nice, Sherlock," she said sarcastically, "You should _make lunch_ more often!"

"Molly, sarcasm doesn't suit you." Sherlock told.

"Oh. Right. Sorry."

_Why do you apologise for everything? _Molly scolded herself.

_Why does she apologise for everything? _Sherlock thought.

"Are you not having any lunch?" Molly questioned.

"Nope."

"I thought you said you were hungry?" Sherlock cast her an enigmatic smile and _finally_ took a seat next to her on the sofa.

...

The rest of the day passed pretty quickly. Molly spent her time watching _Glee _and Sherlock occupied himself by 'experimenting'.

Just as it was starting to get dark, Molly took a shower. The hot water on her back felt good.

"Molly..." Sherlock called. He sounded unsure about something.

"Yes, Sherlock?" Molly shouted back.

"Toby's annoying me."

Molly rolled her eyes. He was like a child sometimes.

"What's he doing, Sherlock?"

"He's purring," Sherlock replied, "I'm trying to think. It's annoying."

"Just give him a treat or something!"

Sherlock took a cat treat from the tin. He gave it to Toby, who ate it and then continued purring.

"He's still doing it," continued Sherlock, "It's annoying." Molly sighed.

"Can't you go in the other room?"

"Oh right. Yes."

...

Molly emerged from her shower and walked into her bedroom with only a towel wrapped around her. She screamed when she entered. Sherlock was lying on her bed with his eyes closed and his hands in a praying position beneath his chin.

"Mmph." he mumbled.

"S-Sherlock!" Molly stuttered, her voice extremely high. She clutched the towel tightly. "W-what are you doing?!"

"You told me to go in the other room." stated Sherlock.

"I meant the living room, Sherlock!"

He didn't respond. Molly looked at him in disbelief.

"Sherlock, I need to get changed." she waited, "Sherlock?"

"You do that." he muttered.

"B-but you're in here..."

"I'll keep my eyes closed."

Molly hesitated. Her heart skipped a beat.

_Oh, God, Molly! Calm down!_

She picked out some fresh underwear and yet another pair of pyjamas (this time white with blue spots). She slipped on the knickers and pants easily enough with the towel still wrapped around her. The bra and top presented problems. Molly turned to face the wall and closed her eyes tight. She let the towel fall and quickly changed. She struggled with the fasten on the bra, so just put the top on without fastening it.

Sherlock chuckled. He had seen this fiasco out of the corner of his eye. He wasn't looking... Okay, maybe he was peeping a little, but he couldn't resist. _Stop filling your mind with stupid ideas! _

Molly heard him laugh. She turned and looked at him, blushing profusely, with a nervous smile.

"Y-you said you wouldn't look." she whispered, mortified.

"Sorry," he replied, trying not to laugh again, "I couldn't control my eyes." He smiled. Molly's lips parted slightly. _Did he just...?!_

"I-it's okay."

She fumbled with the strap again and Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Here. Let me." Molly felt her heart rate increase rapidly as Sherlock walked over to her. "Turn around." he ordered. She obeyed and bit her lip to stop herself from giggling nervously. Sherlock lifted her top and fastened it quickly, like he had done it a million times before. _Of course he hasn't done it before, Moll! He's a man- No, he's Sherlock frigging Holmes! _

Sherlock waited a second before lowering the top again.

"T-thanks." Molly turned around and smiled.

"You're welcome." Sherlock smiled back.

"I-I think I'm going to go to bed now."

"Then I will too," he paused, "Do you want me to sleep with you again?"

Sherlock clearly didn't realise how wrong (_and oh so right_) that sounded.

"E-er..." Molly stumbled, "Y-yeah. Okay."

"Right."

He left the room and left Molly alone. She squealed excitedly. She was _sure_ last night was a dream. But Sherlock had just changed all that. Maybe she was dreaming again?

Sherlock returned a while later dressed in his pyjamas.

"Shall we?" he asked, like they were about to dance or something. Molly replied with a nod.

Sherlock clambered into bed and patted the mattress beside him. Molly followed. He put his arm around her and closed his eyes.

"Goodnight Molly." he mumbled.

"Night Sherlock."

Molly smiled to herself. It was like a dream come true. Though of course, there are good dreams and there are also nightmares...

**Fluffedy fluff fluff! More fluffedy fluff fluff soon! Thanks for reading. What did you think? I am such a Sherlolly shipper... Possibly even a Sherlolly addict. :D Why does the spell-check say that a cliché is bad!? I love clichés! OMG! :D**


	26. Nightmares and sickness

**Hello peeps! Firstly, thanks for all the lovely reviews again! I love you all! Secondly, I do not own either this morning or the sun, but don't sue me for using them in my story! D:**

"No!"

Molly bolted upwards. She tried to control her breaths. Her heart was beating so fast it felt like it was about to explode.

"Molly?"

Sherlock woke immediately after. He observed Molly's behaviour: she was breathing quickly. There were beads of sweat on her forehead. Her eyes were wide open in shock. She had definitely had another nightmare.

This one was worse than the last. In stead of just _remembering_, Molly's mind conjured up a whole new scenario with her and Jim. It was utterly terrifying, and until now Molly hadn't been able to force herself awake.

She felt Sherlock's hand on her wrist. He was just taking her pulse, but it calmed her down a little (although she did squeal at first contact).

"Tachycardia." he stated.

"What?" Molly asked, baffled. She was a doctor; she should have known what he was talking about.

"Abnormally high heart-rate," Sherlock replied. Molly nodded slowly like a nodding dog. He put a hand on her forehead whilst she was still nodding. "And abnormally high temperature," he paused, "We need to get you to a doctor."

"No, Sherlock, it's fine-"

"No, Molly," he cut in, "It's not fine. You're ill."

"I'm just in shock! I don't need a doctor! I _am_ a doctor!"

"You're a pathologist."

Molly sighed and looked away from him.

"Same thing." she mumbled.

"You can't diagnose yourself," Sherlock persisted, "And if you won't see a doctor then _I'll_ have to do it."

She looked at him with confusion.

"You're not a doctor." she informed.

"Correct. But I know enough about the human body to give you a correct diagnosis."

"What about work?"

"You're not going." Sherlock sounded certain.

"What?! No, I have to-"

"No," he snapped, "I won't let you. You're not ready. And you need diagnosing!"

"Fine," Molly said reluctantly, "B-but I can't just take a day off work."

"I'll sort it." _You mean Mycroft will sort it, _thought Molly.

"Okay. I'll stay."

"Good."

...

Molly brushed her teeth, washed her face and tied her hair back into a ponytail. She repeated the whole process because she was sick halfway through. There was no point getting changed or applying make-up; Sherlock would just criticise her.

"Ah, Molly!" he said with a smile as she walked into the living room. He was still in his pyjamas too, but he wore a red silk dressing gown as well (_how many dressing gowns does one man need?!_). Molly perched down next to him on the sofa. "Feeling any better?"

"Not really," Molly said truthfully, "I've just been sick."

"Anything else?"

"Er... My head hurts and... I can't think straight and..." Sherlock produced a thermometer from his pocket and placed it into Molly's mouth (partly to stop her rambling). He waited a few seconds.

"Your temperature's pretty much back to normal," he stated, "You said you felt nauseous? And you have a headache? Hmm..."

Molly blinked a few times and tried to process everything he had just said. She couldn't concentrate. She just felt like she was going to...

She legged it into the bathroom, just in time. Fortunately the toilet lid was up.

"You've been sick again," Sherlock said, walking into the room after her, "Get some rest. Go and lie on the sofa."

...

Sherlock checked his watch: it was just past noon. He hadn't checked on Molly for three hours. He trekked from the kitchen into the living room. Molly lay on the sofa, her head rested on a cushion, with a blanket draped over her.

"How're you feeling?" asked Sherlock, kneeling down beside her. She gave him a smile.

"I'm okay now, actually," she said, "I don't really need this anymore." Sherlock took the blanket for her and threw it over the armchair.

"Hmm..."

Molly watched as he walked back into the kitchen. She loved it when he made that noise. He sounded so intelligent!

She turned her attention back to the television screen. She was watching _this morning_.

_"Kitty Riley is a journalist," _said Holly, her teeth gleaming, _"Who works for _the sun _newspaper."_

_"A while ago, Kitty wrote an article called 'the truth about Sherlock Holmes'."_

Molly blinked. Did Phillip just say what she thought he said?!

_"You all remember the fraudulent detective?" _asked Holly_._

_"Well," _continued Phillip, _"Kitty met Sherlock before his suicide and she insists that he was a heartless killer who brutally attacked her-"_

Molly turned it off quickly. She hated stuff like this.

"No, no, no! Put it back on!" Sherlock snatched the remote, and soon they were staring at Holly, Phillip and Kitty.

_"Sherlock Holmes attacked you?"_

_"Y-yes," _said Kitty, _"It was at t-the court... O-on the day of Richard's trial."_ Sherlock scowled; Richard Brook was a fake._ "I-I had just finished using the toilet... and when I turned around... h-he was there... H-he attacked me."_

Sherlock laughed bitterly as Kitty started to cry. Molly just watched, her mouth hanging open.

_"That's terrible! Then what happened?"_

_"W-well, I-"_

"Moriarty put her up to this." Sherlock told.

"How do you know?"

"She keeps stuttering. She takes long pauses after each sentence, like she's waiting for the next one. She's crying genuinely. Also, she keeps missing her camera cues. The only person she can hear is the voice in her ear: Moriarty."

Molly closed her eyes. This was terrible. Why did that name keep popping up?

"I've got evidence," Sherlock continued, "This is good news, Molly."

Molly didn't think it was good news at all. And this was hardly conclusive proof.

_Oh well, he's Sherlock; he knows what he's doing._

**Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed that. There are clues throughout as to some of the plot... Muahaha! I won't tell! :D Thanks for reading again. I'll do more soon. xxx**


	27. Fine

**Chapter 27 is here! Thanks for everyone's lovely reviews once again. I hope you like reading this chapter as much as I liked writing it! :D**

It was almost nine o'clock.

Since Kitty Riley had appeared on television, Sherlock had been investigating. One wall in the living room was completely covered in photographs and snippets of newspaper reports, each connected by threads like a spider's web. He examined his evidence carefully, talking aloud and occasionally making himself coffee. It didn't seem right for Molly to make him it, especially since she was so sick this morning.

It puzzled him how she was ill one minute and totally fine the next.

"Sherlock," Molly said, walking into the room after a boiling hot shower, "What are you doing?"

"I'm trying to piece everything together," replied Sherlock, scanning the information, "I don't understand why Moriarty would do this. I can't make any sense of it."

"Let me have a look."

Molly took a step towards the display and looked at it with a quizzical expression. She felt Sherlock's hands on her shoulders and her heart started racing.

"Er, maybe he wants you to seem like some sort of bad guy? L-like in the movies."

"He's already turned me into a fraud," Sherlock informed, "This is too much, even for him. He has what he wants. Why can't he just leave it at that?"

"I-I dunno," Molly replied, "Anyway, I think I'm going to go to bed now. I've got work tomorrow so-"

"You're not going to work."

"What? Yes I am."

"No you're not," Sherlock replied, "I've spoken to Mycroft; he's booked you a couple of weeks off."

"Sherlock-"

"You'll still be paid in full so you don't have to worry about the money."

"B-but Sherlock," said Molly, "I-I want to go to work. What _else_ am I supposed to do for two weeks?"

"Stay here with me," suggested Sherlock, "It's too soon for you to go back, anyway. You're not well and you're emotionally vulnerable right now. I should have realised earlier. I'm sorry."

Molly sighed. Sherlock desperately wanted to put his arms around her and... _No, Sherlock, stop being so ridiculous._

"Fine, I'll stay," she said, "But I'm still going to sleep; I'm tired."

"Do you want me to-"

"No," Molly cut him off, "It's fine._ I'm_ fine. I'll be fine. It's totally fine. It's fine." _Fine, fine, fine, fine, fine! Have you completely lost it, Molly?! _she made a mental note to never say 'fine' again.

She expected Sherlock to laugh or snigger but he remained totally serious.

"No, it's not fine," he replied, "I don't want you having nightmares again."

"Sherlock-"

"Please. I insist."

...

Sherlock watched Molly's chest silently rise and fall. She looked so peaceful when she was sleeping; so vulnerable. It made him feel even more protective of her.

She didn't stir until about six o'clock. Sherlock (who hadn't slept at all that night) noticed the worry lines on her forehead and knew something was wrong.

"Sherlock!" she screamed, sitting upright. He put his arm around her.

"It's alright, Molly. It's all alright. Nobody's going to hurt you. It was just a dream."

She started crying heavily.

"I-I had a dream about y-you being killed," she told, "I-I didn't... I don't... Oh, Sherlock!" Molly rested her head on his shoulder.

"I'm here, Molly," he comforted, "Don't worry."

"Sh-Sherlock, I'm scared!" Molly sobbed.

"I know, I know. It's all going to be okay, Moll."

_Moll? _Sherlock thought, _why did I call her that?!_

"Sherlock... Sherlock, I'm going to..."

She rushed into the bathroom and Sherlock went after her.

"I told you it was too soon to go back to work," he said matter-of-factly, "Are you alright?"

Molly looked at him, as if to say _are you kidding me?!_

"You've been sick again, haven't you?" Molly nodded, "Right, you are definitely ill."

"No, no, I'm fine-"

"You are _not_ fine, Molly Hooper," he interrupted, "It doesn't take a genius like me to work that out."

**Yayaayayayay! Chapter 27! Thanks for reading guys! Ten points to anyone who can spot the (rather obvious) Cabin Pressure reference! Clue's in the title! ;)**


	28. More than just 'under the weather'

**Chapter 28! More revelations, more Greg and more clichés! Yay! I love clichés! Thanks for everyone's reviews. They mean the world to me. Oh, I'm so cheesy, aren't I? Grr. :D **

Molly sat on the sofa with her head in her hands whilst Sherlock paced up and down the room.

"Where's Toby?" she asked timidly.

"Don't worry about that, now." Sherlock replied snappily. He didn't actually know where Toby was and, frankly, he didn't care. Although, he did have a certain fondness for the feline.

There was a _beep_ noise. Sherlock picked up Molly's phone from the coffee table and rolled his eyes.

"Do you ever check your phone?" he said rudely, "You have five missed calls and a new message. They're all from Lestrade. He wants to know if you're okay, according to the text. He's inquiring about why you're not at work."

Molly smiled to herself. It was nice to know that some people still cared about her.

"Tell him I'm just feeling a little under the weather and... I'll be back at work soon."

Sherlock rolled his eyes again and typed his - _her_ - reply.

_I'm just feeling a little under the weather and I'll be back at work soon. MH_

"There." Sherlock placed the phone down hard, making Molly jump.

"Thanks."

Molly looked up and smiled gratefully. Sherlock just looked at her, bored.

"Don't vomit again," he ordered, "It's infuriating. And if you don't mind, I need to work."

The shy pathologist stood up and moved out of his way. She looked at him with confusion as he studied all the information.

"Sherlock, I can't help being sick." she said, rubbing her temple (she had a terrible headache).

"Hmph."

"Sherlock? Are you okay?" she paused, "You're a bit cranky this morning."

Sherlock turned around abruptly. The expression on his face made Molly stagger backwards.

"I was awake all night. I _need_ coffee."

"O-okay, I'll make you some..."

As Molly made her way into the kitchen, she could taste that horrible acidic flavour again. There wasn't enough time to run into the bathroom, so she was sick straight into the kitchen sink.

"Sorry." she said, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Sherlock grunted in response. "I think you were right. Maybe I should see a doctor."

"John's a doctor." Sherlock pointed out, although saying _his_ name hurt an awful lot.

"Sherlock... I don't think he's up to it, given the circumstances. A-and I haven't seen him for ages anyway."

"Go and see your GP, then." Sherlock suggested.

"I'd need to make an appointment. Doctor Jones is always really busy. I'll try anyway, though."

...

The time was one PM. Molly was watching _glee_ season twowith Toby (who had been in her bedroom all this time) on her lap. She had managed to make an appointment with Doctor Jones somehow, but she didn't think there was any point in going.

"What time is your appointment?" Sherlock asked, though he wasn't really interested.

"I'm not going."

"What?!" he was baffled, "Why not? You're ill!"

"I'm feeling a lot better now. It's probably nothing."

"Molly, you've been sick four times in two days. It is most certainly _something_."

Molly sighed and shook her head.

"I'm fine, Sherlock."

"Are you though? Are you _really_?" Sherlock persisted, "There is something going on here, Molly, and I'm going to find out what. Did Moriarty poison you? Is that it? Does he want you dead? Though, I suppose, if he was going to kill you he'd have done it already. Poison isn't the most imaginative of murder weapons. And if it _was_ poison you'd be dead by now-"

"Sherlock!" Molly cried, "Stop it! Please, just stop it!"

"Oh, I'm... sorry," said Sherlock sheepishly, "I didn't mean to... upset you."

"It's okay." she sighed.

Sherlock pondered for a minute. There was something wrong with all this.

"I don't understand. Why are you only sick in the mornings?"

Molly instantly knew why, as soon as he said it.

"I-I dunno. I, er, maybe it's just er..." she held up her wrist and pretended to check her watch (which was on the other hand), "Oh! Is that the time? I-I better go. I've got somewhere I need to be.." She stood up and made her way towards the door, picking up her bag on the way.

"Molly...?"

"I-I've got that doctor's appointment now." she lied. It wasn't until tomorrow.

"You said you weren't going."

"W-well, I'm feeling a bit rough again so... Better safe than sorry, hey?"

She rushed out of the door and slammed it behind her. Once she was outside, she leaned against the wall and let the tears stream down her face. This couldn't be true. She wouldn't let this be true.

Molly took her phone from her bag. Fortunately, she had put it in there earlier instead of leaving it on the coffee table. She dialed Lestrade's number.

"No, come on, pick up!" she wept.

"Hello?" Greg said eventually, "Molly, is that you?"

"Y-yeah," she sniffled, "Hi Greg."

"Molly, are you alright? What's happened?"

"E-er, nothing. I'm fine. Just..." she hesitated, "Could you meet me somewhere? Please?"

"Yeah, okay, where?"

"I-I dunno, _Speedy's _cafe?" it was the first thing that came to mind, "Just... please come."

"Alright. I will. See you soon Moll."

"Bye."

**Dum dum dum! So... have y'all figured it out yet? It's kinda obvious, dontcha know? Sorry. That was me trying to be from Texas or Tennessee or wherever. Definete Molstrade in the next chapter but for now...**

**THANKS FOR READING AND THERE WILL BE MORE SOON! :D**


	29. Friendly faces

Molly took a tube to Baker Street. She reckoned it would be the safest mode of transport. As much as she hated crowds, she didn't want to be stuck in a cab with a total stranger.

She took a seat in the café and waited nervously, tapping her fingers on the table. Mrs Hudson (who was working there at the time) kept looking at her, like she recognised her but couldn't put a name to her face.

"Molly!" Greg sprinted into the café, panting. His face was bright red and he was out of breath. He had obviously come here in a rush.

Everyone in the room turned and stared at him. Mrs Hudson smiled at both of them.

"Inspector Lestrade!" she said, smiling, as she walked over to him, "This is a nice surprise!"

The elderly woman turned her attention to Doctor Hooper.

"And Molly, dear," she smiled even more, "How are you, love?"

"I-I'm fine." Molly replied.

"Er, Mrs Hudson, can we have a cappuccino and a..." Greg looked at Molly.

"I'm okay thanks."

Mrs Hudson nodded and walked back over to the kitchen. She gave Lestrade a friendly wink.

"Moll," Greg took a seat opposite her, "What's wrong? I heard you on the phone; you were crying."

"I-It's really nothing, Greg. I was just being silly."

"Does this have something to do with Moriarty?" Greg whispered. Molly shuddered at the name. "What's happened? Has he come back?"

"N-no! It's just... erm..."

"You can tell me, Molly."

Molly took a deep breath.

"It's just... Well, I've been feeling a bit rough these past few mornings."

"Mornings?" Lestrade inquired, one brow arched.

"Y-yeah. Ever since that... incident... with Ji- J-" She couldn't say his name.

"Molly, what did he do?"

The woman looked down at the table anxiously.

"Molly, did he...?" Greg cleared his throat suggestively and Molly nodded. "Oh God... Molly, I'm sorry... Hey, don't cry, it's okay." He wiped her eyes, but she refused to look up. "Look at me, Moll."

"G-Greg, it's-"

"You should have told me about this. I could have helped you."

"I was too scared, Greg!" Molly wailed.

"I know, Molly, I know," he paused, "So you think that you're... um..."

"Yes." Molly replied, "I mean, I don't know. It's only been a few days so... It's probably just my imagination-"

"You can't just let this go, Moll. You have to find out." He took hold of her hands. "I'm sorry, but you have to. It's the only way."

"Okay."

A mug of coffee was suddenly placed on the table. Molly let go of Greg's hands and blushed.

"Are you alright, dear?" Mrs Hudson asked, concerned.

"She's fine, Mrs H." Lestrade responded, "She's had a bad day, that's all."

"Ah, okay." Mrs Hudson patted Molly's shoulder, "You get some rest then, hun. It'll help, I promise." She turned to Greg and smiled. "You'll look after her, won't you love?"

"Yeah. I will. It's not like I've got work to do or anything." he joked, with a sad smile. Molly looked up at him, puzzled. "Oh, I, er, I've been suspended."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

"No, no, no, don't worry about me. I've had it easy compared to you."

Mrs Hudson cast Molly a bemused expression and then walked off.

"Molly, I'll help you," Greg whispered, "We can get through this, yeah? Whatever happens, I'll be here."

"You mean that?"

"Course." he smiled, "I'd do anything for you, Moll. You don't realise how much you mean to me."

**FIN! That is all, mon copains. A little bit of Molstrade in that chapter and... IT'S PRETTY OBVIOUS WHAT IS WRONG WITH MOLLY! Once again, thanks for reviews and stuff. There will be more soon. :D**


	30. The truth hurts

**Hello! Thanks for lovely comments, guys. Sorry for the delay: I was struggling to post it. Hope you enjoy!**

Lestrade walked over to the counter and paid Mrs Hudson for the coffee.

"Oh, no, there's no need to pay," Mrs Hudson pushed Greg's hand away, "It's on the house."

"Thanks Mrs Hudson."

"Are you sure she's alright, love?" she asked quietly, "That's a nasty bruise she's got."

"She fell down the stairs," Greg lied, "She's okay now."

"Well, okay. Thanks for looking after her." Mrs Hudson paused, "Are you two seeing each other?"

"No, I'm afraid," chuckled Greg, "She's a lovely girl, though."

"I can see how much you like her."

"I do, but she doesn't like me. Not like that. I'm a bit too old for her, is all."

"No such thing as too old." Mrs Hudson joked.

"Well, it's worth a shot," the detective continued, "I've got nothing to lose. My wife left me for that bloody teacher."

"Oh, that's a shame. Well, anyway, I hope she's feeling a bit better soon. See you soon, Greg."

"Bye Mrs H."

...

"Look, Molly, how about we get you home and I can go to the chemists-"

"Greg," Molly cut him off as they reached his car, "I-I can't go home. Not now."

"Is there someone there?" she shook her head quickly but Lestrade didn't believe her, "Who is it, Moll?"

"Can we just go back to your place?" she asked, "Please?"

"Okay, but you're not gonna like it."

...

Lestrade parked up his car outside a_ premier inn. _They both got out and walked towards the entrance.

"Home sweet home." he muttered.

"You're living in a hotel?" Molly asked, "Greg, that's terrible!"

"No, Molly," Greg turned to her. He looked serious and a bit upset. "What's terrible is you being attacked. And John being alone. And Sherlock being..." He took a deep breath and Molly gulped. "Don't worry about me. I deserve everything I get. You don't deserve any of it."

He placed his room card into the slot beside the elevator and waited.

"Blasted thing," he told, "It takes ages."

The lift arrived about two minutes later. Molly had been standing there awkwardly, not wanting to say anything.

The pair of them got in. When they arrived on the fourth floor, they walked down to the end of the corridor. Greg opened the door to his room.

"This is it," he sighed, "My room. It's not a house and it's not much of a home either."

"Greg, I'm sorry."

"Molly, I mean it, you've been through a lot worse than I have." he paused, "Do you want me to go and... Do you want me to go to the chemists for you?"

"I would appreciate it hugely." Molly replied.

"Then I'll go. It's only down the road anyway."

...

Molly waited for Greg to return. She kept looking out of the window to make sure Moriarty wasn't coming for her. Though, she supposed, he was busy with Miss Riley.

"Moll?" she turned round quickly and gasped. When she realised it was Greg, she smiled and blushed.

"Sorry. That was-"

"Totally reasonable," he interrupted, "After what you've been through."

"D-did you get it?" Molly asked. Lestrade could tell she was scared. He placed the rectangular box in her palm.

"The bathroom's just through here. I'll be out here if you need me."

...

Molly sat on the toilet seat, biting her lip. Her legs were trembling. She tried to take her mind off _that_ by thinking of something else.

_These hotel bathrooms are always really clean. It's nice because you can have as many baths as you like and you don't have to pay for the water bill... Well, you have to pay for the hotel bill... _

She checked her watch for the third time. _Two minutes left._

_Don't stop believing! Hold on to that feeling!_

Molly gasped when she heard her phone go off. She forgot she had put it in her pocket. She checked who was calling and thought: _God, Sherlock, you pick your moments._

"H-hello?" she greeted nervously.

"Molly? Where are you? I've been worried." Sherlock said hurriedly.

"H-have you?" Molly questioned, trying her best to sound cheerful, "That's... nice. I'm just at the, er, doctors."

"I can tell that you're lying."

"Molly?" Greg called from outside the door, "Everything alright in there?"

"Yeah, I'm fine Greg!" Molly shouted. She checked her watch again - one minute. "Just on the phone, that's all!"

"Right then."

"Molly, where are you?" Sherlock continued.

"I'm... I'm on the toilet." Molly said. It was the truth. Sort of.

"Oh, well, I'll leave you to... go about your business. Bye Molly." Sherlock hung up the phone before she had a chance to respond.

...

"Molly?" Greg watched as she walked out of the bathroom; she looked like a ghost. "Are you...?" Molly nodded slowly. "Oh, God. Come here."

He walked over and put his arms around her. She did the same and started to cry.

"What am I going to do, Greg?" she asked, "I-I've always wanted kids, ever since I was a kid myself but not... Not like this."

"I understand," he consoled, "What do you _want_ to do, Molly?"

"I don't know," Molly sobbed, "I just wish none of this had ever happened."

"Oh, so do I, Moll. You didn't deserve any of this. You're such a sweet girl. I'm so sorry that this has happened to you."

"How do I tell him?" she spluttered, without thinking.

"Tell who?" asked Lestrade, confused, "Molly?"

"Er, it's nobody," Molly insisted, "I... I was talking about Toby. My cat."

"Oh. Right." Greg paused, "Molly, you need to make up your mind soon, you know?"

"I'll try."

...

Greg dropped Molly back off at her flat. He gave her a quick peck on the cheek before he left.

"Take care of yourself," he said, "I'll see you soon."

"Thanks so much, Greg," Molly replied, "For everything." He gave her a curt nod and walked off.

"Sherlock?" Molly walked through the door and looked around. Sherlock was sat on the sofa. He looked sad. "Sherlock, there's something I need to tell you-"

"You're pregnant," Sherlock turned to her with a frown, "I deduced."

"How long have you known?"

"A while." Sherlock replied, "I came to a conclusion based on all the facts. And I was right, of course."

"Yes you were." Molly sighed and sat down next to him.

"I heard Lestrade checking up on you," Sherlock explained, "I knew something was wrong; it must have been. You've been sick in the morning and only the morning for the past few days. _After_ Moriarty abducted you. 'Morning sickness' is induced by pregnancy. And when I take into account what Moriarty did to you that night..."

"Is it wrong that I went to Lestrade?" asked Molly, looking him in the eye.

"No, it's totally logical. But I would have prefered it if you came to me for help. No matter what people say about me, I do actually have a heart. And I do actually care about you."

Molly rested her head on his shoulder.

"Thank you, Sherlock Holmes."

"My pleasure, Molly Hooper."

**Wowzers... I enjoyed writing that chapter very much. So, what will happen to Molly now that she knows the truth? And who else will find out? Mycroft, Mrs Hudson, John... ****_Jim_****? What will Moriarty do when he finds out? Hm... Interesting. And WHERE IS KITTY RILEY?! I need to do more about her so I will. Thanks for reading! :)**


	31. Spontaneous

"So what are you going to do?"

Molly looked up at Sherlock with wide eyes. They had both been sitting there for the past five minutes. She kind of wished it was all a dream, although it was nice to be this close to Sherlock.

"I don't know," she replied, "W-what do you think I should do?"

"It's really not for me to say," Sherlock paused, "But if I were you..."

"Just tell me, Sherlock. I know you'll be right. You're _always_ right."

Sherlock smiled briefly and then his smile faded into a frown.

"Molly, it's not my decision," he sighed, "I'm not good with all this 'touchy-feely' stuff."

"That's not true, Sherlock! You're a great friend and you're a good man."

"You're better off asking Lestrade."

"No I'm not," Molly retorted, "He has nothing to do with this-"

"That's why you went to him for help?" snapped Sherlock, "That's why you went to him instead of me?"

"Y-you said that was okay," Molly squeaked, "Y-you said-"

"I don't care!"

Sherlock shook his head. He looked... hurt?

"Sherlock..." Molly said quietly, gingerly resting a hand on his shoulder.

"It's okay, Molly," he replied, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have yelled at you like that."

"It's fine."

"No, it's not. I'm always so cruel to you and it's not fair," he hesitated, "I don't mean to do it. I don't want you to be unhappy."

"Then why-"

"I don't know."

He looked into her eyes and her pupils dilated rapidly.

"Sorry," he continued, "For... everything."

"It's alright, Sherlock."

"So. Have you decided yet?"

...

"That was out of order."

Mycroft Holmes walked into the darkened room with his umbrella at his side.

"Why did you do it?" he asked, "Really, what was the point?"

"What's wrong with a little harmless fun?" replied a soft voice from the other end of the room.

"Harmless?" Mycroft let out a laugh, "You've done more damage in one night than my brother could do in his lifetime."

"It _was_ fun, though."

"Fun?!" bellowed Mycroft; he was serious now, "You driven a man out of his mind and reduced a defenseless woman to tears!"

"Exactly."

"James!"

Moriarty smirked.

"James," Mycroft continued, "You need help."

"Oh, I'm fine," Jim whispered, "Never better, actually. That whole experience was very... refreshing."

Mycroft wanted to punch him.

"And what of Miss Riley?" he said, changing the subject to something of lesser importance.

"Jolly good," replied the consultant criminal, mocking Mycroft, "Well, as good as one can be when one is deceased."

"Where is the body, James?"

"At the bottom of the Thames, somewhere between Waterloo and Battersea. Not that there's much of the actual body left. Violent deaths - love those. Though, she kind of deserved it for being _stu-pid_."

"Miss Hooper didn't deserve any of this, though, did she?"

"Which is exactly why she had to endure it," Moriarty smiled, "I'll be seeing her again _very_ soon."

"No you won't. You're staying here."

"Mr Holmes," Jim let out a laugh, "I'm the most dangerous man the world has ever known and you think you'll be able to keep me locked up in here?"

"You can't escape."

"Yes I can. Just wait and see."

...

"Well, I-"

_Don't stop believin'!_

"Your phone," Sherlock picked up the white iPhone from the coffee table, "It's Lestrade. Again."

"Give it here," Molly took it from him and put it to her ear, "Greg?"

"Yeah, Molly, hi. How are you?"

"I-I'm good. Don't worry about me, Greg, I'm not important."

Sherlock smiled. She was always so modest.

"That's not true," said Greg, "You're the most impor- You're a good friend and I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

"Well, thank you," Molly paused, "I'm glad I have you, Greg."

"Me too. Look, get some rest, okay? I'll call you back later."

"Bye Greg."

"Bye, bye..."

He hung up and Molly sighed.

"He's such a nice man." she said.

"And I'm not?" Sherlock muttered.

"No, I just... You know what I mean."

"Molly, would you class him as a close friend?" Molly pondered and then replied:

"Y-yes, I would."

"What would you class me as?"

Molly looked up at Sherlock with her mouth slightly open. She didn't know how to respond to that.

"W-well... I don't know, I-"

She was cut off.

...

"Make sure he doesn't escape," Mycroft told one of his lackeys, "And if he does..." He didn't need to finish. The threat was already crystal clear.

"Yes Mr Holmes sir."

"I'll be back in a few hours," he continued, "Until then, you're in charge. Understood?"

"Perfectly Mr Holmes sir."

"Thank you."

He strolled out of the top secret MOD building and made his way over to the black car. Someone opened the door for him and he got inside.

"Where to, sir?" asked Anthea. She was still rapidly texting away on her _BlackBerry_, which irritated Mycroft slightly as he was so bad with technology.

"Baker Street, please," he replied, "221B Baker Street."

...

Molly blinked._ Did that really just happen?_

"Oh, er," Sherlock couldn't quite believe it either, "I... Forgive me. I don't... Hm."

He really didn't understand. One moment he was just sitting there watching her talk and the next... It was spontaneous and, in Sherlock's eyes, a totally illogical action.

"W-what...? I..." Molly tried to find the right words, "Sherlock...?"

The man sat in silence. _Why on Earth did you just kiss Molly Hooper?!_ He closed his eyes. Why did he do that? Had he _meant_ to do that? Did he really _want_ to do that? His mind was on fire with all the questions.

"Sorry," he said sheepishly, "I don't know... I..." They were both bewildered. Sherlock cleared his throat and started again. "Have you decided yet?"

"W-what?"

"About... You know."

"Well, yes, I," Molly stuttered, "No, maybe, I don't know."

"Make up your mind Molly: have you or haven't you?"

"No."

"Right."

Sherlock rose from his seat and walked over to the kitchen.

"Sherlock..." he turned around upon hearing Molly's voice.

"Yes Molly?"

"Er... It's nothing."

**So... Why did Sherlock kiss Molly? Why is Mycroft going to Baker Street and most importantly... WHY THE HELL IS JIM WITH MYCROFT?! AND WHAT DOES HE MEAN WHEN HE SAYS 'I'LL SEE HER AGAIN VERY SOON'?! What the hell, you'll have to wait and see :P Thanks for reading! :)**

**P.S. Yay! I killed Kitty Riley! She was such a... grr... :P**


	32. The devil's return

**Chapter 32. Wowcher. That's a lot of chapters.**

**Thanks for reading and for everyone who left a review I want to give a special thank you. You really are my motivation.**

**Also, Sherlock: the casebook arrived yesterday and it was epic. I say was because... I've finished it already. I'm so sad. Anyway, I discovered that Kitty's last name is spelt 'Reilly' so I've changed it in this chapter. Also, when Jim and Molls were dating, Jim was called 'Jim Zucco'. Weird name but yeah.**

Mycroft arrived back at the MOD base after an uneventful visit to Baker Street. He had asked Mrs Hudson if she knew anything about Molly, but she knew very little. So, in hindsight, he would have been better off not going in the first place. Now, as he stood on the stone floor surrounded by blood, he really wished he had stayed.

"W-we don't know how he escaped, sir," stuttered one of his lackeys, "H-he must have had back up."

"Everyone who was working in here at the time is dead." added another.

"We don't know much, but I'm sure-"

"Don't just stand there: go and find him!" Mycroft cut in.

"Yes sir. Sorry sir."

The two men dashed off and Mycroft put his head in his hands. This was his fault. Moriarty was free again, thanks to him.

...

"You should've seen it, Seb. It was funny."

Jim Moriarty chuckled to himself as he remembered his daring escape.

"How'd you do it?" asked Sebastian.

"I got some help," Jim shrugged, "Wasn't that hard. Wish you could've been there, though. The guards were all so clueless. One of them was asleep!" He let out a laugh and then his face suddenly became serious. "Ah well. They're dead now."

Sebastian hesitated.

"So, what's the plan now?" he questioned, putting a cigarette to his lips.

"We wait."

"Wait for what?" Jim smirked.

"Wait until Molly dearest is all alone..." he looked at Sebastian with a menacing expression, "Then we pounce."

...

Sherlock left the flat after the kiss. He had been gone for a couple of hours. It was starting to get dark, and Molly was home alone... Well, almost. Toby was there with her, but he didn't really count.

"Come back Sherlock..." she whispered to herself.

She didn't _want_ to be alone - not again. It was pretty selfish of Sherlock to leave her.

...

Sherlock stood alone in the darkness. The air was cold and the rain was heavy. He placed his fingertips on the black marble.

He needed John. He need John to tell him about love. He needed John to explain it all to him. He needed John because... Just _because_.

"I never wanted to do this to you," he said quietly, "Forgive me. I am sorry. I don't want you to be sad. And, I wish you were here. I wish I could talk to you now but I-"

His phone suddenly went off. He pulled it out of his pocket and placed it against his ear.

"I'm busy, Mycroft," he hissed, "What is it?"

"Moriarty." said his brother.

"Yes, what about him? You told me that you abducted him and-"

"He escaped," Mycroft informed, "We don't know how. But he's out on the streets again and I presume he'll be after Miss Hooper."

"I've just left her alone!" Sherlock yelled, "You could have told me sooner!"

"I didn't have a chance-"

Sherlock ended the call and sprinted to the other side of the graveyard.

...

The front door suddenly flung open. Molly rushed towards the door; she needed Sherlock right now.

"Sherlo-" She stopped dead in her tracks.

"No, honey, it's just me."

Moriarty.

_This can't be happening. Not again._

"Let's get down to business," he said casually. He pushed Molly down onto the sofa and stood in front, towering over her. She let out a terrified squeak. "It won't take Sherlock _too_ long to get here. So the sensible option would be to leave now."

"No, please..." she whispered.

"Did you seriously think I would just let you go?" he let out a laugh, "Darling, I'll _never_ let you go. Just ask Kitty Reilly. Well, you can't. She's dead. You get the idea?"

"Please..." she had a catch in her throat.

"Although, actually," Jim continued, "I'm not going to kill _you_. No, no, no, no, no. I can come up with far more imaginative ways to hurt you. And Sherlock, for that matter."

"Please." Molly whimpered, unable to hold back the tears any more.

"You'll come with me, won't you? You won't make a fuss?" she nodded rapidly, "Attagirl. We better get going. It's chilly outside; you might want to wear a coat."

He took his own black coat (which was not too dissimilar to Sherlock's) and placed it on her lap.

"Put it on." he ordered.

Molly didn't have the strength to stand up.

"For God's sake!" Jim said moodily. He took a firm hold of her arm and pulled her up again. "Now put. It. On."

She wrapped the coat around herself quickly, even though she really didn't want to.

"Follow me," Moriarty instructed, "And if you even _think_ about running off..."

Molly gulped.

"I... Okay..." she said.

**Oh dear, Jim's back! Mycroft's lackeys are so stupid for letting him escape. Sherlock is stupid for leaving Molly. Thanks for reading :)**


	33. Evil

"Molly!"

Sherlock rushed into the flat, but he was too late. Molly was nowhere to be seen. He took his coat off and threw it down onto the floor in anger.

He took his phone and dialed Mycroft's number.

"Mycroft," he snarled, "He's got her. It's all your fault."

"I know he has, Sherlock," his brother replied, "It was on the CCTV."

"Well, go after him then!"

"It's not that simple," Mycroft told, "Moriarty has informed me that unless we leave the matter alone he will 'blow something up'."

"That could be anything and therefore nothing." Sherlock muttered.

"For all we know there could be a bomb in Buckingham palace."

"For all we know he could be planning to blow up a sheep," Sherlock retorted, "And if there _is_ a bomb at the palace then you _really_ need to screen your defence people more carefully."

"You _can't_ go after them, Sherlock." he said.

"Mycroft, I don't care if something gets-"

"What if it's at Baker Street?" Mycroft pressed, "What if he's planning to blow up John and Mrs Hudson?"

"W-well, he... He's done that before. I-it's improbable that he would do it again." Sherlock was stuck. He paused before asking: "_Is_ there a bomb at Baker Street?"

"As a matter of fact, yes," Mycroft sighed, "And this time it's in 221B."

"John." whispered Sherlock. He frowned solemnly.

"He's there, Sherlock. And Mrs Hudson is in the flat downstairs. It's your choice: them or Miss Hooper. Now, which will it be?"

...

"Sebby, can you open a window?" Jim asked from the back of the car.

"Why boss?" Seb questioned, "It's bloody freezing outside."

"Yeah, but it's getting _really_ hot in here, Seb."

He turned to Molly and grinned seductively.

"Yeah, alright, whatever." Sebastian pressed a button and one of the front windows opened.

"So Molls," Moriarty spoke, staring intently at his hostage, "Is there something you want to tell me?" Molly gulped and said nothing. "I know about your little secret," he whispered into her ear, making her shiver, "So there's no point in lying to me."

"What's the secret?" questioned Seb, looking into the rear view mirror.

"Shut up and drive, Sebastian." ordered Jim. He turned back to Molly and tilted his head. "You're so pretty, Moll. Do you know that? So _adorable_. So _loveable_. So _malleable_."

"P-please-" she whispered. Moriarty put a finger to her lips to stop her talking.

"Princess, I told you before: I'm not going to kill you. So stop complaining and _shut up_."

...

"There must be _something_ we can do, Mycroft."

Sherlock was remarkably still on the phone to his brother.

"I'm trying, Sherlock." Mycroft replied.

"No you're not!" yelled Sherlock, "You don't even care!"

"I don't care for Miss Hooper but I care about you. And I still don't want her to get hurt."

"It's Doctor Hooper," Sherlock scowled, "Idiot."

"Please, Sherlock," Mycroft scoffed, "Stop being a child."

"Stop being an idiot."

...

"Here we are, boss." Sebastian stated, parking the car. It was dark, so Molly couldn't see where they were. She could just make out the outline of what appeared to be a house.

Seb opened Jim's door for him and the consulting criminal got out. It was Moriarty himself who opened Molly's door. He held out his hand and she hesitantly accepted. He pulled her up quickly and practically dragged her inside the building.

Once inside, he led her into a darkened room. The only piece of furniture was a single wooden chair. Jim ripped his coat of Molly and forced her to sit down.

"In case you're wondering how I know," he said, his face expressionless, "My people are all over the city. One of them heard your conversation with Lestrade. And _I_ heard about it 'through the grapevine'."

He took a piece of wire from his trouser pocket and bound Molly's hands behind her back. He removed his tie and gagged Molly. She struggled and tried to scream, but the fabric muffled her voice. Jim unfastened the top button of his shirt.

"So what are we going to do about it?" he asked, stroking his chin with his thumb and forefinger and pretending to think, "I mean, it's a big problem. It's not just going to go away like that." He clicked his fingers loudly. "So... what _should_ we do?"

...

"Are you _sure_ that there is a bomb at Baker Street?" Sherlock inquired.

"Yes, Sherlock, I'm sure..." Mycroft paused, "Can I end the call now?"

"Go ahead. Just make sure she's safe, Mycroft. Whatever it takes."

"Whatever it takes." he repeated, and he ended the call.

...

"There now, my dear. Isn't that better?"

Tears rolled down Molly's cheek like a waterfall. Better? Was he joking?! He just punched her in the stomach, for goodness sake! It hurt tremendously.

"If that doesn't do the trick I don't know what will."

Molly felt physically sick. Moriarty took a step closer and smirked.

"Sorry," he apologised, "I can't stand kids... Well, if they're dead maybe. I suppose you see dead children all the time, so this isn't that much of a difference."

**Bamf! Bit of a rubbish end... Sorry... And I used the word bamf because I wanted to unleash some of John's bamfness... It is harder to use the word 'cumbersome' in a sentence, but never mind. Thanks for reading! :D**


	34. Saving her again

**Woohoo! Chapter 34! Enjoy!**

Sherlock's phone started ringing. He answered quickly and put the phone to his ear.

"Mycroft? Is that you?" he asked hurriedly.

"Afraid not, honey." said the menacing voice of Moriarty. Sherlock bared his teeth.

"Moriarty," he growled, "What have you done to Molly? Where is she?"

"Oh, don't worry, Sherlock," Jim said nonchalantly, "She's _fine_. She's here with me now. She's _such_ a good girl, isn't she? She does _everything_ I tell her to."

Sherlock tried hard to stay calm, but he really was terrified for Molly. Moriarty was like a shark; he could sense fear. Sherlock wasn't going to let him.

"Let her go," he ordered, "Let her go now or I will kill you."

"Sherlock, Sherlock, Sherlock," the consulting criminal let out a sigh, "You're_ so_ predictable. You don't even know where I am, dear!"

"I can find out."

"And I can blow up Baker Street," Jim retaliated, "Poor Mrs Hudson would be dead in seconds. And John. You're not seriously going to let your friends die for the sake of pathetic little Molly here, are you?"

Sherlock was stuck.

...

"Would you like to talk to her, Sherlock?" Jim looked at Molly and smirked, "Would you?"

Molly was utterly petrified. Her abdomen hurt like hell. She could see the blood now. If Sherlock didn't save her in time, she would definitely bleed to death.

Moriarty pressed the speaker button on his HTC phone and placed it on Molly's lap. He took the piece of fabric out of her mouth and threw it on the floor.

"Sh... Sher..." she tried, although it was incredibly hard to speak. It hurt too much to stop crying.

"Molly," Sherlock said softly, "It's alright. I'm coming. It'll be alright."

"He doesn't mean that, honey," interrupted Jim, "If he tries to save you then his _real_ friends go boom."

"Molly i_s_ my real friend!" the detective snapped, "In fact she's more than that. So much more. And I will _save_ her."

"Better get here quickly then," Moriarty said. He sounded a little disappointed that Sherlock was being so _ordinary_. "She's losing a lot of blood."

...

"What?" Sherlock's heart skipped a beat, "How much blood? What have you done?"

"She might die, Sherlock." Jim replied in a sing-song voice.

"Sher... Please..." Molly sobbed. Her voice was a lot higher than usual.

"What. Have. You. Done." Sherlock repeated furiously.

Moriarty let out a sinister laugh.

"Come and find out for yourself," he said, "We're at Baker Street. Ooh, you weren't expecting that! 220 Baker Street, to be precise."

"Why should I believe you?"

"Er, because if you don't, Molly _will_ die."

...

Moriarty ended the call and put the phone in his pocket.

"Well," he said to Molly, "It was nice talking to you. I hope you're thankful; I fixed your little problem for you." He smiled at his own joke. "Bye."

He walked out of the room and Molly was left alone.

...

"Baker Street!" Sherlock yelled at the cab driver, "Baker Street! _Now_! It's important!" The cabbie started driving slowly. "Faster! _Faster_! Come on!"

He looked at Sherlock through the mirror and squinted.

"Eh...?" he said, confused, "Do I know you?"

"Probably. Now _drive_! _Quickly_!"

...

"Sher... Sh..."

Molly felt a bit dizzy.

"Sher..."

She closed her eyes and became unconscious.

...

The taxi came to a convenient halt next to 220 Baker Street.

Sherlock got out quickly and threw the driver his purse.

"Eh...?" the cabbie was seriously confused.

Sherlock took a brief glimpse at 221B then sprinted towards the front door of 220. He kicked it down and rushed inside.

"Molly?" he looked around for her. She was sat on a chair with her hands tied behind her back. Her eyes were closed. "No, no, no, no, no!"

He ran over to her and untied the metal wire around her wrists. They left red marks on her skin.

"Molly? Can you hear me? Molly?"

Sherlock put his fingertips on her wrist and checked for a pulse: her heart _was_ beating, albeit quite slowly. _But_, he supposed, _she is unconscious_.

"Molly? Molly? Can you hear me?" he tried again.

He went round to the front of the chair and observed everything he could. She was bleeding a fair amount, but Moriarty was definitely exaggerating. Sherlock had expected a knife wound or something but there was nothing of the sort. So the wound was internal. He knew what that meant.

He took his phone from his pocket and dialed 999.

_Who cares if I'm supposed to be dead?! She needs an ambulance!_

"Hello? Yes, I need an ambulance. It's my friend; she's bleeding out... No, no, she's had a miscarriage. She's been attacked... No, I didn't see it happen... It's Baker Street; 220 Baker Street... She's unconscious... Yes... No, I'm not the father... No... Okay... Right... Yes, whatever, I'll stay on the phone..."

"Do you know what her name is?" asked the woman at the other end.

"It's Molly, Molly Hooper." Sherlock told.

"How old is she?"

"Er... early thirties."

"How do you know her?"

"I told you before, idiot!" He corrected himself: "No, sorry. I didn't mean to offend. She's my friend."

"A close friend?"

"Very."

**Aw! So Molly is a 'very' close friend? Aw! That's cute.**

**So Sherlock has kind of saved Molly, but there's still the small matter of getting her to a hospital... And when the paramedics arrive, what if they recognise Sherlock? **

**I wonder where Jim has gone...**

**Thanks for reading once again and I love you all! :)**


	35. Safe

It took less than five minutes for the ambulance to arrive. Which, in Sherlock's mind, was far too long.

He did what he could to make himself appear less 'Sherlock' and more 'normal', whilst still keeping an eye on Molly. There was nothing he could do for her right now other than wait. He figured she might need a blood transfusion. She had lost an abnormal amount of blood. Sherlock wasn't an expert, but he knew this was wrong. Maybe there was something else wrong with her?

Sherlock took off his famous coat and scarf and hid them in another room, along with his suit jacket; he'd come back for them later. He did up the top button of his shirt and put on Moriarty's red, silk tie. Fortunately he was wearing a white shirt (rather than purple) which pretty much went with any tie. He ruffled his hair to make it scruffy (even though it was already a mess). Finally, he put in his green contacts in. He permanently kept them in his pocket.

When the paramedics arrived, they didn't pay him much notice anyway. They moved Molly into the ambulance using a gurney. Sherlock took a seat next to her and held her hand; it felt like an appropriate thing to do.

"She's lost a lot of blood." he told one of the paramedics, in a typical cockney accent. It didn't suit him at all, but it made him sound like an ordinary bloke instead of the great Sherlock Holmes. "That can't be normal."

"I'm afraid it is." they answered.

"But, not _that_ much?" he persisted, "That can't be normal. There must be something else. Something-"

"Well, we'll find out when we get to the hospital."

"Are we going to Barts?" Sherlock asked, "It's the only hospital I trust."

...

They did, in fact, end up going to St Barts. Well, it was pretty much the closest hospital.

The doctors whisked Molly away and told Sherlock to wait in the relatives room. It was weird being back at Barts. He hadn't been there since 'the fall'.

"Do you want anything?" asked one of the nurses, "I can get you a glass of water or a hot drink?"

"Coffee would be lovely." Sherlock replied, staring at the floor. He didn't want to be recognized - he couldn't be recognized! This was all very risky. "Black, two sugars."

"Hm... Okay..." She sounded quite suspicious.

Sherlock thought the best thing to do would be to find a proper disguise. He made his way over to the 'lost and found' office. There was nobody there. He went inside. There was a box full of clothes at the very back of the room.

He found an old baseball cap, a plain white t-shirt, a pair of loose jeans and some trainers. Sherlock got dressed into the outfit and hid _his_ clothes where nobody would look.

By the time he got back, the coffee was ready and the doctors wanted to talk to him. They didn't seem to notice his clothes.

"Right, well," said a male doctor who couldn't have been much younger than fifty, "I'm Doctor Chadwick. I'm going to be looking after your girlfriend-"

"She's not my girlfriend." Sherlock cut in quickly.

"Right, okay. Well anyway, I'm going to be looking after Molly and-"

"She doesn't need 'looking after'," he snapped, "She needs treatment."

"Yes, I know," Doctor Chadwick sighed, "That's what I meant. Anyway, it would help if you told me a bit about her... And you, for that matter. What's your name?"

"It's er..." Sherlock searched his brain for an alias, "It's John." He was annoyed at himself for being so predictable.

"John?"

"Yes, John. John Hudson."

"Right then, Mr Hudson," Sherlock had to try hard not to smile, "What can you tell me about Molly?"

He took a deep breath.

"She's thirty two years old. She's lives in a one bedroom flat in Paddington. She has a cat called Toby. She's a doctor; a pathologist, actually. She works here - in the morgue. She's good at her job and proud of it. She doesn't care much for relationships - she's focussed on her job - but she's a hopeless romantic and falls for anyone who simply pays her a compliment. She likes reading - specifically tacky romance novels, though she does have a wide range of medical textbooks. She's shy, vulnerable and right now she needs her friends, not a doctor she has never met before. In fact, Doctor Chadwick, I don't want you anywhere near her."

Sherlock stormed off to Molly's bedside and Doctor Chadwick was left feeling a bit suspicious. That girl had some pretty bad injuries. He wondered whether this 'John Hudson' had hurt her himself...

...

Molly's eyes flickered open and she saw Sherlock peering down at her with a gentle smile. He was in disguise. He took hold of her hand and laced their fingers together.

"W-what happened?" she asked, blinking so her eyes could adjust to the light.

"He came back," Sherlock told. He knew how the name 'Moriarty' upset her. "Do you remember, Molly? Can you remember what happened?"

"H-he... He hurt me Sherlock." Molly said, worry lines starting to form.

"I know, Molly, but it's okay now. You're safe."

She looked around and then back at Sherlock.

"Where am I?"

"Barts," Sherlock told, "I called an ambulance."

"Oh, Sherlock, what if-" Molly tried to sit up but it hurt too much. She winced and bit her lip.

"Don't try and get up, Molly," ordered Sherlock, "You need to rest. I'll stay here with you."

"Y-you don't have to do that, Sherlock."

"I want to."

"Oh, Sherlock. You're so kind."

"That's not what people normally say." Sherlock told.

"What do people normally say?"

"'Piss off'."

Molly giggled and Sherlock smiled again.

"That's rude," she said, "You should tell them to do the same."

"Yes, I should, shouldn't I? I wonder what they would say about that?"

"Probably something _even ruder_." joked Molly with a smile.

"Oh, Molly," Sherlock sighed, "I'm glad you're smiling. I don't like seeing you upset."

"You know what they say: 'always look on the bright side of life'."

"I'm glad you think like that. It's best not to dwell on the past."

"I know, Sherlock."

"Do you want a glass of water?" he inquired.

"Er, yes please."

Sherlock took a plastic cup and a jug of water from the bed side table and poured Molly a drink. He held the cup to her lips and tilted it so she could drink.

"Thanks." she said.

"You're welcome. Anything else?"

"No, no, that's okay."

Sherlock ran his fingers through her lustrous hair and then kissed the top of her head. Molly closed her eyes tight as he did so. She had never seen him so genuine before; it was lovely.

"I'm _so_ relieved that you're safe." he informed.

"I'm relieved you're here." Molly replied.

"I'm not going to leave you, Moll. Ever."

"Do you mean that?"

"I mean it," Sherlock said, "I will always be here for you. I promise."

**Aw! Sherlolly overload! Anyway, thanks for reading and anyone who left/leaves a review. :)**


	36. Always counted

_Two Weeks Later_

"Are you alright?" asked Sherlock. Molly turned to face him and smiled. "To go back to work, I mean. It seems a bit soon..."

"It's been two weeks, Sherlock," Molly replied, "I'll be fine."

"Right, well, erm..." He cleared his throat, "Bye."

"Goodbye Sherlock."

Molly made her way towards the door. Before she left, Sherlock called out to her:

"No, Molly, wait a second."

She turned to face him and smiled.

"Yes Sherlock?"

"Would you, erm..." he hesitated, "Would you come here? For just a second."

"Yeah sure..."

She approached him and he smiled sheepishly.

"Molly, er, I don't know how to say this so, er... I won't."

Sherlock leaned down and kissed her on the lips. He pulled away quickly after a few seconds and apologised. Molly stared up at him with her mouth open.

"Molly, I'm so sorry, I-"

This time it was Molly who kissed Sherlock. It felt so _good_, he had to admit. He'd never kissed anyone before Molly. Only his mother, but she didn't count. Molly did count. Molly had always counted.

Molly was standing on her tiptoes so she could reach Sherlock, which was a bit awkward. She'd dreamt of this moment for years, but never thought it would actually happen! Sherlock pulled her close and Molly wrapped her arms around his neck. It was Molly who broke the kiss this time; she was far too aware of the time.

"Well, that was, er..." he thought of the right word to say, "That was... good. That was lovely. Yes..."

"I've got to go to work." Molly told.

"Yes, of course you have." said Sherlock, "I'll... see you later."

"Bye Sherlock. "

"Bye Molly," he paused, "I'll miss you."

"I'll miss you too."

"And, er, Molly?" he said, just as she opened the door, "I... I love you."

**Aw! So that is it! Fin! I'll leave what happens next in their 'relationship' up to you. I always imagine Molly as a fighter, so I'd expect her to get over this pretty quickly. Though, of course, she's never going to be able to forget about it. Lucky she has Sherlock to take her mind off it!**

**It took Sherlock all this time to realise. And remember at the start? He said that Mycroft was being 'absurd' and that he would never love Molly. So yes, that was him being childish.**

**Thanks so so much for everyone who read this! It means a lot! Thanks for everyone who left a review! God, I can't express how grateful I am. I will do another fanfic soon... Sherlock, of course. Might not be Sherlolly but I love Molly's character. Thanks again and bye! :) xxxxxxx**


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